


Dragons Live Forever

by Thirdeyeblinkings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Candy Canes, Christmas, Community: hd_erised, Crocs, Drinking, Explicit Language, Florida, Fluff, H/D Erised 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Holidays, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Stillbirth, Swearing, Tanned Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-08-21 07:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16572146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirdeyeblinkings/pseuds/Thirdeyeblinkings
Summary: Harry’s ignoring post-war life. Andromeda invites him to spend Christmas with her and Teddy. He goes reluctantly, not expecting it to be so far from Britain, for so many days, and so fucking close to Draco Malfoy. And when did Malfoy get so tanned, anyway?





	1. A Letter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistyDeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyDeath/gifts).



> MistyDeath/Slashfoxes, I was thrilled to receive you as my assignment. I picked up a few tasty vibes from your prompts, but not specific scenes. I hope I did your wish list justice and that it makes you smile. Teddy is one of my favourite HP characters, and Harry and Draco figuring things out with family in the mix is a new favourite theme of mine. Enjoy <3 
> 
> Thank you so much Chris @keyflight, my superstar beta, for all of your hard work and encouragement, as well as Simone @callmehopeless for her tireless cheerleading, and the mods for their suggestions and edits as well!! This was a ride!
> 
> Content note: I understand the stillbirth tag will put some readers off. It's not graphic, and it's not a main character, but I would rather be safe than sorry as it's a heavy topic.

_December 15th, 2008_

The owl headed for his window blends in with the grey morning sky. Harry can almost pretend he doesn't see it, but that would be pointless. It’s unavoidable. It's the middle of December, and she's nothing if not consistent. He opens the window with a grunt and waits for the inevitable whoosh and flutter.

Yes, it's as he expected. His name written in a tiny, delicate scrawl, a bit more wobbly each year, he notes with a wince. Maybe she isn't doing well. Well, neither is he. Join the fucking club.

He hates that he reacts like this—with anger, annoyance, followed by the sinking guilt, familiar as an old friend. It's not Andromeda's fault.

He shoos the owl away and pauses before opening the letter. It will contain the yearly Teddy update package: a photo, a list of milestones, notes about the weather or current events and some awful cheery commentary, something written or drawn by Teddy, and a casual, painstakingly careful, blink-and-he'll-miss-it invitation to visit Teddy and Andromeda over the Christmas holidays, which he will politely decline, begging off with an excuse that neither of them will believe.

He doesn't have the energy this morning. But when does he ever? He feels the indignation building. If he doesn’t keep it in check he’ll be pacing the room, back and forth, huffing and fuming. Still, hasn’t he done enough? Doesn't he deserve some peace? So what if he's a mess? Who wouldn't be? Yes, he should be a godfather to Teddy in more than a name, but fuck the "shoulds." His own godfather should still be alive. So should his parents and hundreds of other good people.

Teddy deserves better than this. Well, sure, but wishing doesn't make it so. Teddy deserves better than him, so what's the point? "Hey kid, sorry I haven't been around the first ten years of your life, but to be honest, you didn't miss much."

He doesn't know how to do this; he never has. Since the war, everything overwhelms him. He means to do better, he does. But anytime he tries, he shuts down. And it's pathetic; that's the worst part.

Everyone was understanding the year after, and his friends stuck around a few years after that. But it's been ten, now. And nobody knows what to do with him, least of all himself.

Ron and Hermione would be there in an instant if he asked, but he doesn't, because he doesn't want to see the looks on their faces. Concern, discomfort, pity. Gods, the fucking pity. Anything but that.

 _Just do it_ , he chides himself. _Just open the fucking letter, feel your feelings, write your lame arse reply and get on with being miserable_. Yes. But first, some refreshment.

He glances at the clock. 11:14 a.m. Never too early for some liquid cowardice. He pours himself some of Odgen's finest and reaches for his not-so-hidden stash of chocolate frogs. He never claimed to be classy, after all. He takes a moment to hold the chocolate and whisky in his mouth and mull over that idle thought. No, class has never much mattered to him, a fact that he takes pride in. Classiness is for snooty purebloods with white hair and questionable taste in tattoos. Where is Malfoy these days, anyway? He swallows and shakes his head.  
None of that. It doesn't matter.

Just like it doesn't matter that the only people he's spoken more than three words to during the past few years have been blond, lanky Muggle men, happy for an uncomplicated evening with a stranger with "unruly" black hair and "striking" green eyes.

Merlin’s _balls_ , sometimes he'd rather walk around looking like Dudley than hear the same idiotic compliments time after time. Do Muggles read the _Prophet_ , too? Yes, yes, his father's hair and his mother's eyes and Voldemort's sunny disposition. What of it. He drains the glass and slumps into his chair.

Just. Fucking. Do it.

 _Fine_.

He tears open the envelope and shakes its contents out over the desk. Only, there are no "contents" this time, other than the letter itself. No photo, no drawing, no cheery flowery stationery. Just a letter on plain white parchment, staring grimly back at him.

It begins with a simple "Harry," not "dear Harry" as in years past.

_Harry,_

_It's been long enough. Ten years is long enough. I've avoided saying it, I've tiptoed around it, trying to give you time to work this out on your own. I thought if I was careful and polite, you would come to it._

_But you haven't. And it concerns me, but I will admit, you are not my first concern. Teddy is. You may be a hero, but Teddy is my grandson, and he needs his godfather. He has precious few people in his life who will love him as he is, who know his whole story. I thought you would understand that better than anyone._

_I don't know what's keeping you. But I am done with being polite. I'm gaining boldness in my advanced age, and I know better than most that you can't count on next year or even tomorrow to say what needs to be said. I'm only sorry I waited this long._

_Come see your godson. He's ten, going on eleven, heading to Hogwarts next year. Don't you remember what that's like? Talk to someone who hasn't lived through a war. Love someone who hasn't disappointed you. Learn some new things about yourself. It might do you some good._

_I don't want to say this, but I have to: this is your last chance. Teddy turns eleven in April, and if we haven't seen you by then, you will no longer be his godfather. It hurts too much to keep explaining to him that yes, you exist, and no, you aren't far, but for some reason, you won't see him. I won't do it anymore. I will tell him you've disappeared and no one knows how to reach you. And that would be true, wouldn't it?_

_—Andromeda_

Harry flips the page over and over in his hands and watches the snow just beginning to fall outside. Well. That was a treat. He knows she has a point. She has a lot of them. Of course he _knows_. But picking up and trying to be something he's not, with some strange kid . . . _Not a strange kid. Remus's kid._ , his conscience reasons. How is he going to manage this? What can he even say to such a letter? _I can barely stand to take care of myself,_ he groans inwardly, glancing at the remnants of chocolate and whisky before him. He picks up his quill, then puts it down again. Instead of responding in haste, he should think this through. And he needs help.

*~*~*

Harry hears Ron come through the Floo in the next room, can just see him dusting off his Auror robes. "Harry?" he calls.

"In here," Harry replies, not moving from his seat. Ron hangs in the doorway of Harry's makeshift study, smiling self-consciously. It's good to see him. Fuck, he's missed him. And he's only got himself to blame for that.

"You, er, called?" Ron says to the window.

"Ron." Harry gets up and shuffles towards him, then angles awkwardly. Hug or handshake after all this time? Ron goes for the hug. He's a Weasley after all. They embrace tightly and chuckle a little. "Thanks for coming, mate," Harry says, taking a step back. "How's the Ministry treating you?"

"Well enough. Can't complain," Ron says modestly. He tucks his hands in his pockets and bops his head twice. He used to do that all the time at school, whenever he didn't know what to say. It makes Harry's chest hurt just now. How has it been so long since he's seen Ron do that?

And now the poor bloke is left waiting on Harry to carry on the conversation, because he knows asking Harry "how he is" is inadvisable. Harry's bit his head off more than once over the years after Ron was just trying to be nice. So Harry puts him out of his misery and cuts to the chase, stepping forward and shoving the letter into his hands.

"Andromeda wants me to visit Teddy. Invited me for the holidays," he says stiffly. "And I . . . don't know."

Ron gives the letter a cursory read and looks up. "You should go," he says simply, as Harry expected (perhaps hoped?) he would.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He's your godson, right? And it's not like . . ." His face reddens and he stops himself.

"Not like I have anything else going on?" Harry finishes, straight-faced. 

"Well, yeah," Ron responds, finding his nerve. "Not that I would know, but so it would seem."

"You have it about right," Harry admits. "You know you do."

"I don't know anything about you now, mate," Ron says quietly. "We've hardly spoken since—"

"Rosie was born, yeah. How is she?"

It's a trick Harry's picked up over the years. In this case he's genuinely interested in the answer, but even when he's not, it's a good thing to ask when you're trying to divert attention from yourself. Ask people about their children and they don't shut up, and you don't have to contribute much to the conversation.

It works. Ron's eyes brighten. "She's lovely. Like her mum. And still over the moon about Hugo, though he's a little less keen on her affections these days," he chuckles. "Tired of being picked up. Keen to walk but can't quite manage—" He stops. "Bloody hell, Harry, I taught you that trick, remember?" The hurt on his face is unmistakable. "If you didn't want to talk to me, why did you call me here?"

"No, Ron—I—" he remembers now. Of course Ron had taught him that. Back when they were both fresh out of Hogwarts and on the front page of the _Prophet_ three times a week. They leaned on each other to survive the constant barrage of interviews and galas. But then Ron and Hermione had grown closer too, until . . . "I'm sorry. I wasn't doing that. I just . . . I can't believe I forgot about Hugo."

"Turned a year last month," Ron says pointedly. "Sent you an invitation."

There is no getting around this. "I've been a tit," he says with a sigh.

"Yep," Ron agrees.

"I need help."

"Yep," Ron agrees again.

"I should tell Andromeda yes."

"Glad we had this talk." Ron smiles.

"Stay for some Firewhisky?" Harry ventures.

Ron hesitates only a moment before saying, "Only if we're washing it down with chocolate frogs. Like gentlemen."

"Of course." He goes to dig up some clean glasses.

*~*~*

It was good catching up with Ron, and it's given him the kick in the arse he needs to write back to Andromeda and accept her invitation. Still, he can barely believe he's written the words and sent them off. He sinks into in his chair, trying to recall what he knows about Teddy from her previous letters. All that comes to mind are crayon drawings of dragons and a preference for pumpkin ice lollies. He's kept the letters, of course . . . somewhere. But he knows that if he _Accioed_ them they would probably leave hundreds of scattered, unfiled papers in their wake. There likely isn't anything in them that will help him, anyway.

Perhaps it's best to just start from scratch. What are ten year olds like? He hardly remembers being one himself, having spent most of his life trying to block out the years before he went to Hogwarts. Truthfully, he spent most of childhood bored and hungry, and he doubts Teddy can relate much to that. And lonely. So that’s something they have in common.

Andromeda's response arrives just then, if one could call it that. Harry tears the brown paper from the package to find a tiny paper umbrella, like the kind in those ridiculous Muggle cocktails, with a tag attached. She's always been an eccentric.

The tag reads "Dec 17, 2008." It's a Portkey; it must be. Harry groans when he realises that means it activates in just two days, a full week before Christmas. How's he going to get on with Teddy for an entire week? What will they do? What will they talk about? He'd been mentally preparing for an awkward evening—two at the most, where they would exchange gifts and pleasantries, eat too much and maybe, maybe have some sort of "heart to heart" if the situation lended itself. And then he would have fulfilled his obligations for a while and he could come back to his nice, quiet flat with an easy conscience.

So much for that.

Harry resolutely pulls on a heavy overcoat and boots. He’s got shopping to do.


	2. First Meeting

_Dec 17_

Harry lurches and gasps, the tiny umbrella nearly breaking in two inside his clenched fist. He drops it, and is embarrassed to find his eyes still squinched shut and sweat dripping down his back. He’s always hated Portkeys, but this response is ridiculous. The ground feels uneven on his feet and it might as well be two hundred degrees for how light-headed he is.

When he finally opens his eyes, he realises his body's response is more than justified. He's on a beach, and it’s hot. The wind is non-existent and the sun is white above him. He squints at the shoreline—what body of water it is he can't be sure, but it smells like the ocean. Fuck, this can't be right. He wonders if it’s possible Andromeda buggered up the key. In any case, here he is, vastly overdressed in heavy boots and a wool overcoat, with no idea what to do next.

But he's nothing if not a man of action, so the only way to go is forward. He strips off everything but his t-shirt and jeans and tosses the whole mess in a heap on the sand, telling himself he'll come back and get it when he gains his bearings. Though at this moment, he can't even imagine a world in which those things would ever be useful again. Somehow, even after losing all those layers, he's still engulfed by heat. If it were socially acceptable, he would run naked into the surf. He's not keen to put himself on display; years of not doing much of anything have not left him in peak physical form. But the thing is, no one else is around . . . Harry fingers the hem of his shirt, about to bring it up and over when he's startled by a voice.

"Who're you?"

Harry whirls around to see a boy a few feet away, absently kicking some reeds. He's gangly, all limbs, a pair of swimming trunks cinched at his waist, falling well below his knees, and a mop of honey brown curls. He stops kicking and meets Harry's eyes.

"I said who are you."

A statement, not a question. It's obvious the boy is trying to sound threatening, but Harry suspects he's got a soft nature underneath all that. There's a slight tremble in his voice that gives him away.

And there's something familiar about him, something in the way he stands, the way he holds his elbow with his other hand and the tilt of his head. Then it hits him.

"Remus?" Harry breathes, incredulous. It's not possible. Has he been sent back in time?

The boy stiffens.

"I'm Teddy. How'd you know my dad’s name?"

Teddy. Teddy?

It's almost as impossible as his first thought. All he can remember of Teddy are the photos Andromeda sent of a chubby six year old with blinding turquoise hair, cuddling a stuffed dragon. He's got half a mind to reach for his wand, thinking it must be some sort of trap. But the boy is looking at him so earnestly, fear creeping into his eyes despite his best efforts, that Harry decides he's being ridiculous.

"I'm sorry. How rude of me. I'm Harry. I'm . . . I'm your godfather." He holds out his hand, but Teddy remains where he is, eyeing Harry with suspicion.

"Haven't got a godfather," he says plainly.

This throws Harry for another loop.

"But—" he sputters, "I told Andromeda . . ."

At Andromeda's name, Teddy relents a little. "Well I have one, but he's in England." Teddy scowls and resumes kicking the reeds until a patch of them is permanently bent. "And he never sees me."

If they're not in England now—but of course they aren't—then where are they?

"I'm sorry, Teddy," is all Harry can manage at first, faltering under the weight of his guilt. He takes a breath. "I guess your gran didn't tell you I was coming, in case I didn't show up." It irks him that she didn't trust him, but can he really blame her?

"Prove it." Teddy shrugs.

Oh, for fuck's _sake_.

"Fine." Harry brushes the hair off his forehead and points to his scar.

Teddy arches an eyebrow. "So? Anyone can fake one of those."

Harry bites his tongue, hard. What more does this kid want?

"Look, I don't know what to tell you. My dad was friends with your dad. He called him Moony. Does that help?"

"Not really."

Harry forces a steady tone. "Teddy. I'm sorry I've been a piss-poor godfather—"

"You said piss," Teddy interrupts, scandalised and impressed.

"Er, yeah sorry . . ."

"Okay. I can show you to my gran's house and she can decide."

Before Harry can respond, Teddy's tearing up the shoreline, almost out of sight already. Apparently, all that's required to gain the trust of a ten-year-old is a well-placed curse word. Perhaps he should be writing this down?

By the time he catches up with the boy, Teddy is lounging on the porch of a modest seaside cottage with a self-satisfied grin. Harry, meanwhile, is panting and soaked through with sweat, gripping his suitcase in one hand and the wooden rail with the other, like it's the only thing keeping him from losing a fight with gravity. Merlin, he's out of shape. It's humiliating. Or it would be, if he cared about anything other than getting a drink and a patch of shade.

The door of the cottage opens and Andromeda appears with a tray of lemonade and biscuits, which briefly transforms her into a goddess.

"Harry! Is it ever good to see you! Come, sit down." Her hair is a few shades lighter than he remembers, and her skin is slightly more weathered, but she seems do be doing well enough. She nods to a folding chair beside Teddy. Harry takes it, catching his breath, and reaches for the ice cold glass she offers.

"Thank you, Andromeda."

"I must say," she says as he gulps, "I'm happy to see you two getting on so well already! I must warn you, Teddy is quite competitive, and beach races are his specialty. When I told him you were coming . . ."

Harry chokes on a mouthful of lemonade and glares at Teddy, who smirks. So he did know. All along. If this kid isn't sorted into Slytherin come September, the hat should go into retirement.

" . . . and shops down the way, good for chips, then there’s the pier . . ." Andromeda prattles on, not noticing the looks between Harry and Teddy.

So it's clear that Teddy isn't going to make this easy for him. And if he's honest, he can respect that. He is the one at fault here, when it comes down to it. And it would be uncomfortable in a different way if Teddy had clung onto him and demanded affection, the likes of which Harry's not sure he knows how to give. But now that he's committed to this, he's going to see it through. It's even sort of refreshing to have a challenge set in front of him after so long. Yes, he will win over Teddy Lupin, insolent ten-year-old, and return home the better for it. But first things first.

"Andromeda," Harry begins hesitantly, "I'm sorry, but . . . where are we?"

"We’re at my gran's house," Teddy pipes up. "Obviously."

Smart arse.

Andromeda ignores Teddy. "America. Florida, to be precise. It's lovely isn't it?"

"One word for it," Harry mutters under his breath.

"We used to come only on holiday, but I've lived here permanently since Teddy turned six."

"Why?" Harry can't help asking. It doesn’t sit well with him that Teddy’s away from Britain and everything he knows. Or should know.

"In due time," Andromeda responds curtly, and nudges a biscuit towards him. "Anyway, can't say I miss December in London, can you?"

 _Of course I bloody well can_ , Harry thinks. Christmas with palm trees? Really? He just grunts.

"Your room is the first on the left past the kitchen," she continues. "Shall I take your suitcase for you?"

"Oh no, please don't strain yourself," Harry says, remembering his manners. He stands up quickly and takes the handle again, but it proves too much for the state of the poor bag, and the whole thing falls open, scattering clothes—most of which will probably be utterly useless here—everywhere. Teddy's eyes fall on box wrapped in red shiny paper.

"That for me?" he asks, failing to hide his excitement.

It _is_ for him, but Harry had planned on replacing it. Now that he's met the boy the gift is intended for, he realises it's about five years too young for him.

"Yes, but—"

"Wicked!" Teddy grabs the box and tears off the paper, then pulls out the gift: a fluffy blue stuffed Kneazle. "Oh," he sighs as his face falls. "Thanks."

Harry flushes. What had he been thinking of, buying a stuffed animal for a ten-year-old? What's wrong with him?

"Well, isn't that . . . nice?" Andromeda offers.

"Look, I just picked it up at a little shop. . . as a joke . . ." Harry fumbles. "I have a real present to give you when it's actually Christmas. A really good one."

"Whatever. I guess it’s okay," he shrugs. "Is it alright if I go back to playing?" He looks to Andromeda, who nods. Teddy leaps over the railing and disappears down the beach.

Harry watches him go for a moment before gathering his things and drags the suitcase inside. No, it's not going to be easy. But he owes it to both of them to try.

The cottage is a small place, but well appointed, with lots of windows and modern amenities, some Muggle, some magical. There are some sparse family photos scattered across the mantle. He scans them quickly and sees one of Malfoy awkwardly holding Teddy as a toddler. It startles him at first, until he remembers that Narcissa is a Black, so Teddy and Malfoy are related. _That’s_ an unpleasant thought. Poor Teddy.

Malfoy smiles hesitantly in the photo, his gaze meeting the camera lens from under a foppish blond fringe. Harry can’t deny he looks better than when he last saw him. It occurs to him that he’s never seen Malfoy smile that innocently his whole life. Teddy’s smiling, too. _Oh, Teddy,_ Harry thinks to the toddler in the photo _, if only you knew what a prat your cousin is. Best to keep your distance, there._

His bedroom is big enough: a twin bed, which suits him fine, as he isn't expecting company. Room enough for a dresser, small closet and a desk. He takes a moment to admire the ocean through the window. It's quite pleasant, he has to admit, now that he's had a chance to breathe. And it was good of Andromeda to invite him. At the moment, though, he only wants to sleep. He stretches out on top of the quilt over the bed, and closes his eyes, dreaming familiar dreams of cool, snowy evenings and steel grey eyes.


	3. All in the Family

_Dec 18_

Harry wakes up disoriented, unsure of whether he's slept twenty minutes or twenty hours. Glancing at his watch, he sees it's the latter, ten in the morning already. And he feels fantastic, like he's slept well for the first time in his life. The scent of bacon and syrup and tea wafting in from under the door is enough to get him out of bed.

"My, my," Andromeda teases when he darkens the doorway of the kitchen, still in yesterday's clothes. "You'll never keep up with Teddy like this. He's been out with his friends for hours already."

Point taken. Harry shoves a few bites of breakfast into his mouth and washes it down with lukewarm tea.

"Well, before I go running after him, could you tell me where I might buy some clothes? All I have with me are winter things."

"Of course," she replies, and nips into a room two doors down from his own, then reemerges with a pair of streamlined board shorts and a plain black t-shirt. "You can borrow these for now." She eyes his frame. "They may be a bit snug but they're better than nothing. You can spell them to fit differently if you prefer."

"Are they Teddy's?" Harry asks doubtfully.

"Of course not," she replies, as if that explains where they came from. "There's a surf shop a ways down the beach where you can find sandals and a casual wardrobe. You won't need much. This heat wave is supposed to last the week at least."

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

*~*~*

It's an objectively beautiful day, if still too warm. At least there's a breeze now. Harry carries a bag stuffed with new shorts and shirts, and wears some questionable plastic clog-like sandals on his feet. The sales girl insisted they were the next big thing, and extremely comfortable. In the end, he didn't care enough to argue. They are pretty comfortable, and nobody's going to see him anyway. That's something he hasn't stopped to consider until now—this location is quite remote, a literal ocean away from Britain and off the beaten path from a big city. No one will recognise his face here. He's warming up to the idea of this holiday more and more.

Maybe he doesn't need to rush off to find Teddy just yet. He settles into the sand and props up on his elbows. Not another soul for miles, it would seem.

A stealthy movement in his peripheral vision interrupts his thoughts. His Seeker's instinct is still there, if a little rusty.

It's Teddy, crouched behind a rubbish bin, holding some palm fronds over his head for good measure. He catches Harry's eye and puts a silent finger to his lips. Ah, so he's playing some sort of game with his mates. Part of Harry wants to call him out and ruin it for him. Would serve him right, after yesterday. But the more reasonable Harry reminds him that he's here to make friends, or bond or whatever, so it's probably best not to seek vengeance just now.

Turns out he didn't need to anyway, as Teddy is found out almost immediately. A taller blond boy leaps from the bushes and clobbers him, yanking what looks to be a small red flag from his hands and waving it in the air triumphantly.

"Oh ho ho, little man," the blond boy crows in a deep playful baritone. Hm, so on second glance, it's not so much a boy as a man, and a fairly fit one at that. With striking platinum blond hair that he keeps tossing out of his face with a shake of his—

What.

No.

There's no way.

He's had too much sun, that's got to be it. He thought Teddy was Remus, after all. So now he's only mistaking a teenage boy for Malfoy. A teenage boy who is taller and more filled out than average, sure, but maybe they make them differently here. Plus, he's tanned. Malfoy doesn't tan. His skin is a permanent shade of ivory or marble or . . . something. And this boy—man—whoever he is—his skin is decidedly a few shades darker. Like oatmeal. Or sand after a light rain. Or . . . .

"C'mon, Draco, no fair!" Teddy whines, but he's laughing, too.

It can't be true, but it is.

Draco Malfoy is here, and not only that, but seems more than comfortable here. And he has yet to spot Harry, who takes this opportunity to obscure his face with the ball cap he picked up at the shop. He spies on— _observes_ —the pair under the brim and prays to whoever's listening that Teddy forgets he's here.

Malfoy is shirtless. It's not notable, it's just a fact. Just like it's a fact that the years have been kind to him. Anyone would be able to see that. Somehow, Malfoy has managed to sort of . . . come to life. He's grinning without even a hint of irony, and he’s playful, and Teddy hangs on his every word. And it's fucking annoying, Harry decides. All of it.

Where does Malfoy get off making nice with his godson, who seems less impressed with Harry than day-old toast?

"Alright, alright, you can have another go. But this time, try to blend in little better, yeah?"

Malfoy hands the flag back magnanimously, and stretches his arms back behind his head.

Harry tenses and shudders as a droplet of sweat rolls down his back. Why is it so fucking hot here anyway? It's the southern US but it's still December for fuck's sake.

"Hey, can Harry play too?"

Harry watches Malfoy turn his head to see where Teddy is pointing. Him. He's pointing to him, of course. Malfoy's eyes widen, then narrow.

"Potter?"

At least some things never change.

"Malfoy," Harry mutters and stands up, dusting the sand off while trying to come up with a better retort. "What are you doing here with my godson?" It comes out a bit haughtier than he intended, but so be it.

Teddy looks back and forth between the two of them, eyes sparkling with intrigue.

"I might ask you the same," Malfoy drawls, meeting Harry's eye for a fleeting second before stretching again. What is he—training for a marathon? He takes a step closer to Harry. "What are you doing here with my cousin, hmm? And—" his eyes flit up and down Harry's torso—"are those my clothes?" He arches an eyebrow.

"Your . . . your . . ." Harry trails off and tugs at the hem of the shirt helplessly. Andromeda. She has some things to explain. "Look, I asked you first."

"So you did," Malfoy says grandly. "As it happens, I live here."

"You live here." It takes a moment to register. "In America?"

"No, in Norway." He rolls his eyes. "Of course here. With Teddy. My cousin. And Andromeda. My Aunt. Your turn?"

"I'm here visiting," Harry says lamely. "Visiting my godson and his grandmother, like his parents would have wanted," he tacks on.

"His parents wanted you to visit him after ten years of silence? Hm, odd, but if you say so . . ."

"It wasn't silence," Harry says through gritted teeth. But then he finds he doesn't know what else to call it. Merlin help him if Malfoy is winning a battle of wits based on who's the better person. "Anyway, how would you know?"

"Me?" Malfoy bats his eyes in mock innocence. "Oh, I don't know anything. I didn't even know you were coming." At this he looks back to Teddy, who's grinning like a fox in a henhouse. "I seem to remember asking you, Teddy, my good lad, if Potter was going to show his face this year. I was going to holiday with friends if that were the case. And I distinctly remember you saying you were _sure_ he wasn't coming."

Now Harry and Malfoy are both glaring at Teddy.

"Gran said it would be okay not to tell you, as long as I didn't lie," he says sheepishly.

"But you did lie!" Harry and Malfoy say together, much to their disgust. Harry huffs and Malfoy pinches the bridge of his nose.

"No I didn't." Teddy turns to Malfoy, quite pleased with himself. "When you asked, we hadn't heard from him yet. And then we did hear from him, but we just didn't tell you. Besides," Teddy faces Harry with the same expression he gave him yesterday, "I didn't believe you would come, even if you said you would."

Before Harry can respond, Malfoy takes charge.

"Alright, let's go talk to my dear old aunt about this. Game's over." Teddy's shoulders sag, but he seems resigned to this turn of events. "Potter. You coming?"

"’Spose so." Harry sighs and picks up his bag.

"And what—" Malfoy says with a pitying smile, "in the name of Ilvermorny do you have on your feet?"

"Sod off, they're comfortable!" Harry shouts, flustered and silently cursing the sales clerk. They are ridiculous, now that he's seeing them through Malfoy's eyes, but he's not going to admit that. What does Malfoy know about American beachwear anyway? Oh, right, he lives here.

"Potter, I don't often give advice to hopeless causes, but you're just on the borderline so here you are: Those are the shoes of a man who has given up."

"That's not advice; it's an insult."

"You never were able to tell the difference, were you?" is his reply.

Teddy's already taken off running again, a veritable fountain of youthful energy. Harry just shrugs. It's too hot and he's too old for this. Maybe he'll win by being the bigger person here.

He jogs to fall into step with Malfoy.

"You really had no idea I was coming?" he asks, hoping he doesn't sound as breathless as he feels.

"You really had no idea I live here?" Malfoy counters. "Doesn't Andromeda write you?"

"Once a year," Harry concedes. "Maybe she mentioned you or a cousin or something but I obviously didn't put the pieces together."

"Imagine that," Malfoy deadpans.

"Look, I know I've not exactly been a model godparent—"

"You haven't been a model anything since the war."

Harry feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up and rage coiling inside him. A "fuck you" and more is on the tip of his tongue, but he keeps it together for Teddy's sake.

"What?" Malfoy continues, staring straight ahead as they walk. "You think I can't say shit like that to you? If I don't, who will? Word is you don't even see your friends anymore."

"Keeping tabs on me, then?" Harry smirks, for lack of a better response.

And strangely enough, that flusters Malfoy a little.

"Er, of course not. It's not difficult to know what the _Prophet's_ favourite headline is up to."

"Oh, and just how easy is it to read a British wizarding newspaper in Muggle America? How many owls does it take to bring it to you hot off the press, Malfoy?"

He's quiet, and Harry revels in this small victory.

"Forgive me for not turning my back on my old life completely," he says quietly. And Harry doesn't know what to say to that. Somehow Malfoy has managed to make him feel petty and small, and it's just not fucking fair.

Finally, _finally_ , they reach the house. Just before they go in, Harry stops Malfoy by awkwardly grabbing his shoulder, which, judging by Malfoy's face, is an absolute affront, but Harry perseveres.

"We don't get along. We're not friends. But we care about Teddy and he's going to have a good Christmas. Yeah?"

Malfoy scowls and nods and opens the door.

Andromeda has the nerve to act as though having Harry and Draco in the same room is completely unremarkable.

"Back so soon, boys? I'm afraid dinner won't be ready for at least another hour!"

Malfoy's not having it, and Harry has to hand it to him for not shying away from this conversation.

"Auntie," he says with a tight smile. "I don't suppose you could tell me what Potter is doing here, wearing my clothes?"

Andromeda smiles breezily. "He came all the way from London, Draco. He needed something appropriate to wear in this heat. I didn't think you'd mind. You have twenty more identical black shirts, don't you?"

He falters. "It's not—it's the principle—that's not the point—I think you need to—"

"What Malfoy is trying to say," Harry jumps in, "is that you hid the truth from us. I didn't know Malfoy lived here. And you knew I didn't know."

"And I didn't know Potter was visiting. And you knew I didn't know that, too. Surely there's an easier way to phrase that, Potter," he adds as an aside. Harry just rolls his eyes.

Andromeda looks nonplussed. "And?"

"What d'you mean and?" Harry scoffs. "And that's kind of a shit thing to do, don't you think?"

"Language, please," is her only response.

Harry shares a look with Malfoy, a ‘can you believe her?’ look. Malfoy just shakes his head slowly.

Andromeda murmurs something about needing to check on her herb garden and heads towards the back door.

"But!" Harry protests. He's silenced by Malfoy nudging his shoulder.

"Don't bother," he says in a low voice that makes something flip in Harry's stomach. "I know her when she gets like this. We won't get an explanation until she feels like it. And when we do, it will undoubtedly have something to do with it being for our own good."

Harry tries not to dwell on how many times the concept of "we" was used in that sentence. This is getting out of hand.

"And you let her get away with that?" Harry moves his shoulder farther away from Malfoy's and immediately feels the loss.

"Am I in any position to argue? Are you? Let's consider the facts for a moment."

"Fine, fine," Harry mutters. "I get it. No need to lecture, Malfoy."

"Good, I don't fancy trying to get anything else into that thick head of yours."

Harry glares.

"Ha! Sick burn on you, Potter," chimes Teddy, who is inconspicuously huddled in a bean bag chair with a book in his lap. Malfoy jumps like he forgot he was there.

"Don't call me Potter," Harry says, summoning up what he hopes is an authoritative tone.

"Why not? Malfoy does."

Harry's about to say ‘Well I can't stop him,’ but Malfoy interrupts him.

"And don't call me Malfoy!" He cries, indignant, which gives Harry some satisfaction. He must not have expected Teddy to defy him, too.

"Why not? Potter does."

Both men stop for a moment. Malfoy takes a deep, belaboured sigh.

"Harry," he grits out with a menacingly sweet smile. "What d'you say we use our proper names, just while you're here? Just for consistency's sake?"

"Draco," Harry nearly chokes like he's taken a hex to the throat. "I suppose I could do that."

"There, Teddy, you see? Now we're all the best of friends."

"Good." Teddy shrugs and goes back to the book he was reading.

Harry gets the distinct feeling they've both been played.

"And Harry? Now that you've got your own clothes, could you perhaps return mine?" Malfoy says haughtily.

"Of course, Draco," Harry responds, equally venomous. "I'll return them as soon as I take them off."

It was a stupid thing to say, but that doesn't quite explain the violent blush he feels creeping up his neck.

"Why don't you take them off now, then?" Malfoy shoots back, then immediately turns a shade rosier himself. It looks good on him, Harry is horrified to note. "I mean in your room, of course."

"I knew what you meant, thanks," Harry blusters and pauses, not sure what to do next.

The screen door creaks open and Andromeda reemerges with a fistful of greens. Harry has never been happier to see her.

"There we are. Look at this parsley! I knew I had a green thumb in me somewhere! Dora always used to tease me . . . but never mind that. What are you boys up to, now?"

"Nothing," they say in unison and grimace.

"Ah," she clucks. "I suspect dinner will be a quiet affair tonight. Teddy, come help me set the table."


	4. Same Old, Same Old

_Dec 19_

Harry awakens to the wireless blaring a pop song. He'd set the alarm to 6am last night, wanting to be up before everyone else so he could eat in peace and get out before anyone noticed. He's going for a run. He hasn't been running in ages, and it'll be good to clear his head. 

The song fades out as he dresses. He cocks his head out the window to gauge the temperature and whether or not he'll regret wearing a shirt. But then he remembers that by the time he gets back, everyone, including Malfoy—Draco—will be awake, and he'd rather not be on display (unlike some people around here). He slips on a plain white tee and silently turns the door handle. All the lights are still off, he notes with satisfaction. He chews a stale croissant in the dark, then slips out the door, into the rising sun.

The air is chilly for once and the light spills through the trees near the horizon. Harry breathes it in deep and allows himself a moment to take stock.

As Andromeda had predicted, it was a quiet dinner last night. It was awkward as hell, in his opinion anyway. He'd tried to fill the silence by talking to Teddy. They were supposed to be getting to know each other, after all. So he'd said the first thing he could think of that they might have in common. "Looking forward to Hogwarts?" But Teddy had just shifted in his seat and said "whatever," which was quickly becoming one of Harry's least favourite words. Then, to make matters worse, Malfoy had shot him a look, like he had just said something utterly stupid, and pointedly asked Harry to pass the peas. Malfoy and Teddy did the washing up, tossing suds at each other and sharing whatever inside jokes they had together. Harry had gone to bed early, without a word. Not a successful first day.

Why is it so hard? On the one hand, it's a relief to see Teddy happy and well adjusted. But on the other hand, it’s _Malfoy._

Even worse, he can't help but think that he's let Remus down. It seems that literally anyone could be a better guardian to Teddy than Harry can. He's failed before he's started, and pretending that he can make up for lost time is probably delusional. 

Harry drains the water he's brought and sends the cup back the kitchen wandlessly. Enough feeling sorry for himself. The light is perfect and the shoreline glimmers. He sets off down the boardwalk.

It's not long before his shirt is damp and his breath heavy. But oh well, no one else is around to see the Saviour panting after running half a mile. He settles down on a bench and and sees another runner approaching from the opposite direction. It's Malfoy. Of course it is. Fucking hell.

He doesn't care. He does not. Why should he care what Malfoy thinks?

Malfoy slows to a jog, his fringe falling in front of his eyes and his arms slack at his sides. He stops directly in front of Harry and smirks. At least he's wearing a shirt this time. But does he have to be so damn smug?

"Thought you were asleep," Harry says, silently bemoaning his tendency to say whatever comes to mind first.

"Oh? Nobody gets up before Harry Potter, is that it?"

Harry just sighs. "No. It's just the lights were off."

"Yes, well, contrary to your opinion of me, I can be considerate when I want to be."

"Oh, I know. Everybody's best friend now, apparently. I get it," Harry mutters, looking past him.

Malfoy's smirk widens into something resembling a smile. "It really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"What?" Harry snaps.

"That someone in this world might be willing to give me a chance?" Malfoy's eyes meet Harry's in a challenge. "That they might even _like_ me? That I'm not wallowing my life away?"

"I don't need you to wallow your life away," Harry mumbles.

"No, but it would be convenient, wouldn't it?" He stretches. Again with the damn stretching. "Don't worry, I did have a few years of angst and self-loathing, if that helps." Malfoy's eyes flick to the inside of his arm, where the mark has faded and shrunk. It's barely noticeable anymore. Malfoy catches Harry staring.

"It does that for anyone who renounces him. Or at least, it does now. Now that he's dead. It disappears, little by little. Counting the days until it's gone."

Harry nods, unsure of how to respond.

Malfoy arches his eyebrows towards the empty space on the bench. An unspoken ‘May I?’

Harry shrugs.

Malfoy plunks down at the other end of the bench, and Harry shuffles even farther to his side, leaving a good foot of space between them.

"You'll have to do better. With Teddy," Malfoy offers.

Harry doesn't love that Malfoy's in a position to give him advice, but he'll take anything he can get. "How?" he says evenly. "I've hardly had a chance."

"Maybe not. But it's your overall attitude."

"Excuse me?" Harry sputters. " _My_ attitude?"

Malfoy tilts his head back a little, as if reining in a smart remark. "Look, kids are intuitive, and Teddy more than most. You came here desperate to do your duty and get out—"

"How did you—"

"And Teddy knows that. He can smell it on you. And frankly, he's not interested in being another good deed for Harry Potter. I don't blame him." He pauses for a moment, considering. "He wants a godfather. A relationship."

"I want that, too!" Honestly, the gall.

"Do you?" Malfoy counters, giving Harry a critical once over. "Or do you just want this week to be more bearable? Be honest."

"A Slytherin asking for honesty. That's rich." Harry snorts.

"A Gryffindor without the balls to answer the hard questions," Malfoy retorts. "Sounds about right."

"Fuck you."

"And there you have it. I've got a run to finish. Cheers, Potter." Malfoy jumps up.

"Hey, Malfoy," Harry blurts before he can stop himself. "What's your angle?" He already regrets what he's going to say, but he can't stop the words from coming.

"My what?" Malfoy asks sharply, colour draining from his face.

"You know, your angle. What's in it for you here, hm? The nice guy, the chummy cousin act. I don't buy it."

Malfoy gapes at him, then recovers. "Ah, yes, of course. I must be 'up to something', is that it? Eight years I've been here and you haven't. And all this time, I've had ulterior motives, right?" He lets out a hollow laugh and shakes his head in disbelief, an off-kilter smile on his face. "I've heard of long cons but, _fuck_. That would be some dedication, wouldn't it?" He squares his shoulders and bites his lip before glaring at Harry. "I don't care whether you buy it or not, Potter. I'm not fucking selling it. This is who I am. If you don't think people can change, that's your problem. I won't waste my time trying to prove it to you."

"Sorry, I—" But there's nothing Harry can say to take it back. He didn't even mean it. He was just so . . . everything is just . . . not the way he expected. 

"Don't," Malfoy says softly. "It doesn't mean shit, and you know it. See you back at the house."

Harry spends an hour watching the sun rise, willing it to go backwards, before getting up.

*~*~*

Andromeda and Teddy are having tea out on the deck when he gets back. He wants to ask if Malfoy is back too, but he can't think of a plausible reason for why he would want to know.

"Good morning, Harry!" Andromeda chirps. "Early bird gets the worm, hm?"

Harry nods. "Morning Andromeda. Hey Teddy."

Teddy waves with a mouthful of eggs and returns to his book.

"Gonna take a shower, unless it's, er, occupied?"

"No, dear. It's all yours."

It's quiet inside the house, no sign of Malfoy. Harry breathes a sigh of relief. He goes to his room to get a towel and sees the black t-shirt and board shorts crumpled on the floor. He can return them now without any awkwardness, thank Merlin, so he scoops them up and heads down the hall. Malfoy's door is closed, so he knocks, just out of habit, but there's no response, just as he expected. The door swings open and Harry hastily decides to toss the clothes onto the empty bed, but his arm stops in mid-air when he sees that the bed is not empty.

Malfoy is in it, asleep, and quite possibly naked.

That is, he can't be sure, because the thin white sheet rests _just_ below Malfoy's hips. Harry licks his lips without thinking, and tries to look away. Really, he tries.

But the scars cris crossing Malfoy’s chest—they weren’t there before. Does he cast a glamour over them otherwise? They’re thin and silvery, only barely contrasting with his skin. Harry’s ashamed to realise he’d forgot. He hadn’t even wondered about the absence of scars before. But if Malfoy covers them every day, they obviously make him self-conscious.

Harry should leave. So why doesn’t he?

Malfoy has one arm tossed behind his head and his mouth is slightly open, lips parted.

Harry swallows.

His eyes move downward again. The tan line. Merlin. That strip of skin that the sun has evidently not seen, that is still marble white and practically glowing.

And the fucking sheet.

Harry can't move.

Must-move-must-close-door, he thinks hazily, but his feet stay where they are.

 _Circe_ , it's a gorgeous sight. It's all Harry can do to stop himself from taking those few steps forward to brush away the angel-fine strands of hair sticking to Malfoy's cheek, to run his hands over his abdomen, or press an slow, open mouthed kiss to his . . . Fuck. He's hard.

The screen door slams and he jumps a mile, dropping the clothes on the floor, shutting the door and running into the bathroom with only a towel.

*~*~*

The steam of the shower calms him, though not all of him, and he takes his time with that, pulling himself off while imagining Malfoy sprawled out like that beneath him, moaning his name.

 _Shit_. This was not supposed to happen. 

He cannot be attracted to Malfoy, who probably hates him more than ever after today. He is not here for a shag, damn it. Even if it has been a long time. Even if Malfoy looks good enough to—stop it. Stop. It. Harry runs the water cold and splashes his face. No, he's better than this. 

He is. It's just. There's always been something, hasn't there?

Even when Harry hadn't yet come to terms with who he was, there was the odd dream or fantasy, but he'd chalked that up to adolescence. Everything looks good to a seventeen year old, or so he had tried to reason. Back then, he told himself he didn't have to worry about liking boys and what that might mean, because he wasn't in love with Malfoy, he was just weirdly attracted to him. Like a fluke, a chemical thing or whatever.

And then, when he realised that, actually, he was attracted to other boys as well, and perhaps even liked them for more than, well, the obvious reasons, he still didn't worry about being in love with Malfoy, because Malfoy was a git. Death Eater Lite. Not someone he could fall in love with. Not by a long shot. Because Malfoy was a terrible person.

And now? Now he might . . . not be. And not only that, but Harry's more attracted to him than ever. He can't be a decent person, too, can he? It's just not possible. Or at least, it's not fair that the stars should align that way, after everything. It's stupid. He will not accept it. If Draco wants to walk around being pals with Teddy and sleeping half-naked (or fully naked), that's his business. Harry is here for one reason, and it's got nothing to do with Draco Malfoy.

However, he muses as he towels off, there is the awkward reality that he probably owes the smug bastard some sort of apology. He's never been very good at those. And this one will be particularly difficult. ‘I'm sorry about what I said, but to be fair, you're tall and fit and tanned and I didn't think it was possible for you to be nice, now, too.’ Ugh. How is he going to get through this week?

He'll just have to barrel on and let things sort themselves out. Malfoy will be fine in a few days. A few sharp words never did Malfoy in before. Maybe he's even planning a retaliation, which would be a relief, if he's honest. Yes, that's the most likely thing, surely.

When Harry returns to his room to hang up his things, he notices something on his night table that he's almost certain wasn't there before. It's a tea cup, swirling with a misty, silvery substance. He wants to laugh. How thick does Malfoy think he is? It's a potion, no doubt, probably formulated to do something painful or humiliating to him. Malfoy could have at least tried to disguise it as cocoa or something. He closes and locks his door, so nobody disturbs him, and tries to ignore the thrill running down his spine. Stepping closer, he very slowly lifts the cup from its saucer to examine its contents. If he can figure out what it is, perhaps he can find a way to make its properties take the opposite effect instead. It would be so satisfying to see the shock on Malfoy's face.

But when he leans in closer to inspect it, something quite unexpected happens.


	5. Tempest in a Tea Cup

Harry's vision is blurred at the edges, and he can only go so far in one direction before he's pulled back. He's in a memory, but he doesn't know who it belongs to yet. There's the obvious candidate, Malfoy, but Harry can't imagine he would ever allow himself to be this vulnerable, no matter how much he might have changed. 

Then, who? It makes him uneasy. He can stop at any time, of course. It's easy enough for him to come away from a pensieve. But he's never seen one disguised like this, or one this small. If he had to guess, this is a very purposefully selected memory, intended for him specifically. Why? The curiosity will eat away at him if he retreats now.

Allowing himself to take in his surroundings, Harry sees he's in an unfamiliar house. It's dark outside, and cold and drafty inside. He hears a woman crying. Or is it a child? There's a child crying in the other room. And the woman crying . . . that's who the memory belongs to. He can almost feel the sobs shake his own shoulders, the emotion is so powerful. He needs to step back. When he finds the strength to move around within the memory a little more, he can see that it's Andromeda. This is her memory. And the child crying must be Teddy. Why won't she go to him?

He sees her startle at an abrupt knock on the door, and turns in sync with her to go answer it. She opens it a crack and there on the doorstep, is Malfoy. He's young—so _young_ —and thin and pale. He says nothing.

"Why are you here?" she asks warily.

Malfoy will barely look at her. He shivers and shrugs. The silence drags out, giving Harry enough time to look around the room for any sign of the date. A calendar on the wall by the fireplace says it's June of 2000. The year Lucius Malfoy escaped Azkaban and disappeared with Narcissa, leaving their son behind. It was in the papers, but Harry hadn't believed it. He'd assumed that Malfoy stayed behind only long enough for appearances sake and then joined his parents in hiding, until he got bored and slipped back into wizarding society. But this memory paints quite a different picture. Malfoy clearly has nowhere else to go. 

"Come in, then," Andromeda sniffs. Teddy is still wailing in the background.

Malfoy's shoulders are hunched, like he wants to sink into oblivion. Harry watches him, can't take his eyes off of him now. What will he do? His eyes dart from the sofa to the door to the room where Teddy must be.

"S'wrong with my cousin?" he barely whispers.

At that, Andromeda's eyes refill. "If only I knew." She sighs shakily. "I can't calm him for the world. He hasn't cried like this since he was a newborn, I don't know what I'll—"

Before she can finish, Malfoy goes to the room and creaks open the door. Harry can't help but follow. Teddy sits in his crib, tears staining his red cheeks and howling like it's all he knows how to do. He's got green footie pyjamas on and his hair is flashing wildly, all colours of the rainbow. It's only when he sees Malfoy that he stops crying, if only from surprise. His hair settles on faded pink.

"Er, hi," Malfoy mumbles, and gives a tiny wave through the bars of the crib. "What's wrong?"

Teddy sniffs, whimpers and and hiccups.

Malfoy frowns and hiccups back. Harry barely holds back a scoff. Surely that's not going to work . . . but it does.

Teddy hiccups again, and Malfoy hiccups back. Teddy grins, gives a tiny laugh, which is overtaken by another hiccup, which Malfoy dutifully mimics.

Teddy giggles.

They go back and forth, Malfoy's hiccups becoming more and more exaggerated and Teddy's laughter becoming more and more delirious. It's beautiful. After a while, catching his breath, Malfoy stands up. This was the wrong move, apparently. Teddy's eyes water again and he whimpers in distress, reaching out through the bars. Malfoy's shoulders slump a little; he's clearly exhausted.

"Alright, alright," he sighs. But instead of continuing the hiccup game, he leans over the rail and pats Teddy's back. Then, slowly easing the toddler onto his tummy, he starts, very quietly, to sing.

"Puff, the magic dragon," he sing-whispers, "lived by the sea . . ."

Harry is taken aback, something heavy and aching in his throat. He thinks he's heard this song before, but it's not a wizard song. It's old and familiar, but far away. Malfoy sings it from memory, as if it's the only thing holding him here in this dark room. His voice quivers slightly when he gets to the next verse.

"Dragons live forever, but not so little boys. Painted wings and coloured rings make way for other toys . . ." Malfoy sniffs and swallows. Teddy stirs for a moment, his eyelids drooping but not quite closed. He's still waiting for Malfoy to continue before giving in. So, the thin, weary boy keeps singing, until he gets to the final verse, where his voice is high and reedy and he can't quite finish.

"Without his life-long friend, Puff could not be brave . . ." his breath hitches and his eyes slide over to Teddy, who is finally asleep. He coughs and sputters and allows only one sob to escape before he straightens up and exits the room.

Andromeda is waiting in the armchair by the fire.

"You can stay as long as you need, Draco."

His nostrils flare and he sniffs and swallows again, his Adam's apple bobbing and the tendons in his neck flexing.

"Have some tea, dear," Andromeda urges.

Draco drops down into the other chair and accepts the cup, taking a sip and allowing himself to relax. It's only a few minutes before he's fallen asleep himself, his face and body finally at peace in the armchair. Andromeda drapes an old knitted blanket over his gangly frame and sweeps the damp hair from his forehead.

"Sleep well, nephew," she murmurs softly. "You're home." 

*~*~*

The scene dissolves before Harry's eyes and he's back in his room, sniffing the cup of what is definitely not tea in his own hands.

He doesn't move for a while. It's like his brain is on pause. What does he do with something like this? What right does he have to this information? And why does he feel the way he does about it?

The bitterness he's felt thus far regarding the bond that Malfoy shares with Teddy—it's not completely melted away, but he can see how petty it is. If he can trust Andromeda's memory—and he can think of no reason not to—Malfoy was never in this for any sort of reward or grand scheme. Harry had known that already, really, but he'd allowed himself not to know it. It was easier. Now he'd have to come to terms with a few things.

But first, he needs to properly apologise to Malfoy. To Draco. Really, it shouldn't be so hard to use his first name. They're adults now. He'll do that. He'll say, "I'm sorry, Draco," and mean it. As soon as Draco wakes up.

When Harry reemerges onto the deck, he sees that Draco is already awake and has joined Andromeda. Teddy's likely gone off somewhere by now. Draco's dressed. Of course he is. In different clothes, but very similar clothes, because he took the other ones off . . . why is his mind going there now? He looks good, as usual. Harry might as well admit it: Draco always looks good.

He gives his head a shake and clears his throat just as Andromeda speaks. "I left a cup of tea in your room, Harry. Had a hunch you might need it." Harry waits for a conspiratorial wink or something but there isn't one. Just a pregnant pause.

"Er, yes, thank you. It was . . . good," he responds, shifting his gaze to Draco, who is diligently studying a spider hanging from a plant at his shoulder.

"Draco," Harry begins, and is immediately stopped short at the way the other man's head snaps up. "I apologise for what I said earlier," he continues, forcing himself to meet Draco's eyes. "I mean it. I'm sorry. It was . . ." Childish? Rude? Petty? All of the above really.

"Accepted," Draco says with shrug, which doesn't betray anything of what he might actually be feeling, much to Harry's frustration.

"So refreshing to see you two acting like adults," Andromeda observes with a patronising smile, as if they hadn’t been fighting a bloody war since before they were legally allowed to Apparate. Both men scowl. "Ah, I think I’ll head to the shops," Andromeda excuses herself from their company with a glint in her eyes.

"You don't have to call me Draco when Teddy's not around." He twists a leaf idly between his fingers.

"Oh, well, I know." Harry clears his throat again. "But I thought maybe we could try that? Drop the surnames thing? In an effort to get along and get . . . past . . . things?"

"Ever the articulate one." Draco sighs. "But fine. We'll drop the surnames thing to get past things. Then maybe we'll mend things and talk about things and do things," he mutters.

"Or something," Harry adds with grin.

"You think you're very clever don't you?"

Harry can see he's trying to appear his bored, snooty self but his mouth twitches, just a little. And now Harry's staring at his mouth for fuck's sake. He closes his eyes, then and forces himself to look out to sea and change the subject.

"So. Why Florida?" He says it like he's tasted something distinctly unpleasant.

"Oh, trust me, that's none of my doing. When I moved in with them they were still in Britain."

Harry catches himself and doesn't say the "I know" that's on the tip of his tongue. It wasn't the beach house he saw in his memory.

"Andromeda's got some . . . interesting ideas on how to raise Teddy."

That's quite the statement, Harry thinks, from someone who knows about as much about children as he does.

"Such as?"

"Well," Draco continues tentatively, "The move. We were doing all right where we were, as far as I was concerned. But she wanted Teddy to 'thrive.' And he wasn't making friends in London. Even among wizards he was regarded as a bit of a . . . well . . . you know . . ."

"What?" Harry’s eyes darken.

"The other kids sometimes called him a freak." Harry can see Draco doesn’t like the word anymore than he does. Perhaps even less. "Because he couldn’t control his morphing at that age. We were working on it. He was only six. I think the kids and their parents would have come around eventually. Tensions were still pretty high a few years after the war."

"You don't say," Harry mutters. Draco ignores the interruption.

"So Andromeda had this idea that he just needed some time away. It was only going to be a vacation. A few weeks, a month at most. I wasn't even going to tag along. Would have been nice to have the house to myself for a while, if I’m honest, but she can be quite persuasive. Something about sun and fresh air doing me good. . ."

And it has. Merlin has it ever, Harry's mind traitorously muses.

"But then the old bint just refused to leave, and Teddy was happy to go along with it. What child wouldn't? Permanent vacation is the dream for any little kid."

"But what about school? Lessons?"

"It’s just us. We tutor him."

"And that’s fine by you? That he grows up so isolated, away from kids his own age?"

"Of course not. I tried to reason with her, but I don't have much clout in that respect."

"Teddy adores you," Harry observes, surprising himself. "Surely that would count for something?"

"But that was the problem. I couldn't threaten to leave. Teddy's had enough abandonment in his short life. I couldn't even pretend to go through with it. I . . . I know too well what it's actually like." The memory nudges Harry again but then the words Draco just said sink in further, and he doesn't like their implication.

"Remus and Tonks did not abandon him," he says vehemently. "They were fighting for him. For all of—"

"You think I don't know that?" Draco cuts him off. "You think I don't know how they died?"

"Well, you said—"

"Tell me, Harry; logic aside, did you ever feel abandoned when you were a child?"

That cuts a little too close. Anger flares within him, but he's too wary of what he might say and regret later, so he bites his tongue and only glares. This time.

"Your parents died for the same—"

"Never. Ever. Mention my parents." Harry seethes.

Draco, however, is undeterred. "But you see my point. It doesn't matter to a child why his parents aren't there. It only matters that they aren't."

It's quite an astute observation. He's right, of course. Much as it pains Harry to admit it. He won't admit it, in fact. How did they get here? Honestly, it's like Draco just starts these conversations to trap Harry into arguing with him.

"Nevermind. Forget I brought it up."

"As you like," Draco concedes. "As for Florida, it has its charms."

"Name one."

Draco nods at something by his feet. It's a little green lizard of some kind. "Those little fellows are everywhere. Really makes a Slytherin feel at home, you know?" And he has the nerve to follow that with a wink, which is utterly disarming.

"You _would_ get cosy with the reptiles," sighs Harry, hoping his tone distracts from the heat in his cheeks.

"Amphibians," Draco corrects with his signature drawl. "And if I recall, I'm not the one who can speak to snakes. There are a few those here too, though, should you get lonely."

He jumps to his feet before Harry can think of a smart retort. "Then there's the water. It's rare there's a December this warm, even here. I'm going to take advantage. Enjoy your day, Harry."

Without further ado, Draco strips off his shirt, throws a towel over his shoulder and jumps the railing like he's a ten year old boy himself.

And Harry is left wondering, not for the first time, what in the bloody hell he's doing here.


	6. A Chance of Flurries

_Dec 19_

"Draaaaaacooooo!"

Teddy's voice interrupts Harry's inner monologue, which has mainly consisted of telling himself that the ocean is lovely this time of day, and the fact that this is the time when Draco typically has his daily swim is purely coincidental.

"Oh, you're here." Teddy frowns at Harry.

"Well spotted. You'll make a fine Auror someday, Teddy," Harry sighs into the magazine he is not reading.

"What makes you think I want to be one of those?" Teddy scowls.

"Nevermind. If you're looking for Draco, he's swimming." Harry jerks his head in the direction of the water.

The boy squints into the surf. "Oh yeah." But he doesn't go in after him, just yells louder. "OI! DRAAACOO!" He waves his arms wildly above his head. The crashing waves drown him out.

"For Merlin's sake," Harry mutters, then places his thumb and finger to his lips and whistles. The sound carries over the crashing waves. He sees Draco look over to shore to where they are. Teddy gives Harry a grudging nod as if to say that perhaps he is good for something.

"What do you need him so badly for anyway?"

"Nothin. Just want to tell him something."

Harry can only roll his eyes. Ten-year-olds. He can't believe Draco has the patience for this.

The lithe, glistening man dives under the waves and re-surfaces closer to shore, where the water is waist deep on him. He wades towards them, the resistance of the water emphasising his natural swagger. Harry swallows thickly, hardly able to tear his eyes away. When Draco reaches the sand, he runs a hand over his head to slick back his dripping wet hair, then adjusts the silvery green swim trunks on his hips, absentmindedly hooking a thumb in one side. Harry bites back a groan. Why does water have to make fabric so clingy? And who wears swim trunks made of such thin material? What are they—silk? _Breathe, Harry. Get a fucking hold of yourself_. Draco reaches for his towel and gives himself a rough dry. Thank the gods that's over. 

But he's barely wiped the last drop before he's smirking at Harry.

"It's not often men whistle at me, hard as it may be to believe. Tell me, what is it you want that's so urgent?" He cocks an eyebrow.

"Honestly, Ma—Draco," says Harry, willing himself to look away. "Your ego's as big as your—"

"As my what?" And fuck if he doesn't stand just a little straighter.

Harry doesn't even know how he was going to finish that sentence.

"Sod off. Teddy wanted to talk to you, is all."

Draco almost looks surprised, as though he hadn't noticed Teddy standing there before. "Back so soon?"

"Yeah, got bored." Teddy shrugs.

"Didn't want to play with the other boys down the way?"

"Nah."

"Teddy. Did anything happen?"

"Nope."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, but if—"

"It's fine, okay? Just wanted to tell you something."

"Which is?"

"Look!" He's got a tattered bit of paper in his hands. "Snowfest! It's tomorrow! You always miss it, but it was rescheduled this year, and you're here this time. We can go!"

Harry's never seen this kid so excited. Draco doesn't share in it, however. He stares at the flyer and furrows his brow, then his eyes go blank for moment. 

"Right. It looks really brilliant, Ted," he says slowly, "but the thing of it is . . ."

Teddy's eyes harden. "You promised. You _always_ say next year."

"I know, I know, it's just that a friend of mine owled this morning . . ." Draco casts about with his hands, as if trying to physically grasp a good excuse.

"Liar," Teddy scowls. "You just don't want to go. You never want to go anywhere."

"Teddy, I take you loads of places and you know it. This is just one time—"

"Every year!" Teddy is shouting now. "I want to see the snow!"

"So ask your gran to take you," Draco says shortly.

Teddy groans. "She'll make me wear seventeen jumpers and ski trousers and we'll only stay half an hour. Why can't you come?"

"I've already said!" Draco's face is hard and his hands are on his hips now. "Don't push it."

Harry knows Draco would hate the comparison, but something in his tone reminds him of Lucius. Even so, Harry suspects there's a hidden reason Draco doesn't want to go to whatever this thing is. He looks skittish, jaw clenched and muscles tensed. All the muscles. _Focus, Harry._

"I'll go," he pipes up. "I can take you, Teddy."

He can almost feel the relief roll of off Draco in waves.

Teddy scrutinises Harry. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Sounds fun." And a good way to score points with both of them. Win-win.

"Do you even know what it is?" Teddy asks doubtfully.

Ignoring the irritation prickling the back of his neck, Harry sighs. "Why don't you tell me?"

"I'm going up," Draco says quietly. He catches Harry's eye and gives a barely perceptible nod. Was that a _thank you_ , or did Harry imagine it?

Teddy allows his excitement at the prospect of finally going to Snowfest to overrule his lukewarm feelings towards his godfather, and the details come spilling out.

"Every year in December, the town puts on this snow festival. They put a hundred tonnes of ice through his humongous chipper and they have sledding and hot chocolate and sculptures and . . ."

Harry's only half listening, trying to figure out why Draco would want to avoid this so much. Perhaps he's not big on crowds? But it's a largely Muggle community. The odds of something recognising him are very slim, especially considering how he's . . . grown up. It can't be the snow itself, can it? Ice practically runs through his veins. Well, it used to anyway.

Teddy's staring at him expectantly now. "I said, do you think we could enter?"

"Enter what?"

"The snow castle contest. I just said—"

"Er, yeah, sure. Of course. Is magic allowed?"

Teddy's eyes narrow. "No. Haven't you been listening? This is a Muggle event."

"Right, yes. Well, we can enter anyway. Sounds fun."

"Brilliant!"

*~*~*

_Dec 20_

The next morning is cooler, requiring something like a jacket, so Harry's glad to have packed some winter things after all.

Draco had already fucked off to Merlin knows where after they returned from the beach yesterday afternoon, so Harry had spent the rest of the day forcing one word answers out of Teddy over a miserable game of chess (Ron would have cried real tears), trying and failing to find Christmas presents at some of the shops in a nearby mall (dreadful business), and watching a terribly obnoxious Christmas film that Teddy thought was hilarious. Teddy also claimed that Draco loved the film, but Harry can't believe the Draco he knew would enjoy watching an eight-year-old smart arse use his home as a weapon against two bumbling burglars.

The thing that's really starting to grate on Harry, though, is that Teddy won't talk about magic. He won't talk about spells, or Hogwarts, or his parents. It doesn't make sense. A child his age, a metamorph, no less, should be sparkling with magical excitement. But there's nothing. 

Harry can identify with his parents being a tricky subject, in a way. Teddy didn't know Remus and Tonks, just as Harry hadn't known James and Lily.

But the difference was, any time someone—anyone—had even a shred of information about them, Harry had gobbled it up and asked for more. He'd wanted to know everything he could about them. With Teddy, it seems to be the opposite. When Harry told him that Remus had been the one to teach him how to cast a Patronus, Teddy just looked out the window and said, "Cool," then asked for more crisps. His hair had turned a vibrant shade of orange, just for a second, then returned to its natural colour. 

Harry would ask Andromeda about it, but she's no better at answering questions. He can't push her to talk about Tonks—he knows that.

And then there's Draco, leaving out of nowhere. What is that about? First he lectured Harry on abandonment, then he leaves Teddy when he wants him around the most.

This whole makeshift family—whatever it is—is completely dysfunctional.

So's he. But nevermind. 

*~*~*

"Alright then, Teddy? Ready to go?"

"Yep!"

No smart remark this time. 

The two of them carry their warmer clothes over their arms and head out to the boardwalk, turning to wave goodbye to Andromeda.

"So, you've never been before, huh?" Harry asks, testing the waters.

"Nah, we always miss it. It's usually at the beginning of December, when Draco goes to visit his friends, but they changed the date this year because of a hurricane warning. I was really looking forward to going with him."

"That's too bad," Harry says. "I hope we still have fun, anyway, yeah? Sounds cool."

"Sounds _cold_ , you mean," Teddy replies, with a hint of mischief.

"Ha, ha," Harry groans.

They walk on in silence for a bit, and Harry seizes the moment.

"Sure we can't sneak some charms into that snow sculpture competition?"

Teddy's carefree attitude seems to vanish on the spot. "That would be cheating," he says flatly.

"Yes, yes, I s'pose it would," Harry admits, unwilling to give up this line of questioning just yet. "But . . . maybe we could try some out on a sand castle later. Might be fun, eh?"

"I'm underage."

"Well, technically, but I thought, in magical families, if . . ."

"You're really stupid for a godfather, you know that?"

Harry blinks twice and attempts to recover. "Well, you've got a smart mouth for godson, if you want to know the truth."

Teddy scowls at him. "I don't want to go anymore."

"Yes you do. Don't be an idiot."

"No, I don't." Teddy turns around and starts walking the other way.

Shit.

He really is the absolute worst at this.

"Teddy!" He shouts in vain. Teddy keeps walking back the other way.

Fuck.

"Edward Remus Lupin!" Draco's booming voice nearly deafens Harry. Of course he would show up now. Of course.

Teddy whirls around and his face splits into a grin. "Draco!"

Harry chances a look over his shoulder to see Draco standing there with his arms crossed, but he doesn't look as smug as Harry would expect. He's already wearing his "winter" attire—a striped green and silver jumper, black chinos and some sort of knitted cap with a pom pom on top. How he manages not to look ridiculous in it is beyond Harry, but he does manage it. He looks fucking picturesque.

"Honestly, Ted, do you think you could you give up your flair for the dramatic for just a few hours? Then we might actually enjoy this."

Teddy looks sheepish for a brief moment. "Yeah. I was just . . ."

Draco waves his hand. "Nevermind. Just smarten up. And pick up the pace or we'll miss the grand whatever-it-is."

"Ribbon cutting!" Teddy finishes, already breaking into a jog.

Harry is a third-wheel again, something he's grown rather used to in this life, but at least with Ron and Hermione he knew they still wanted him around. Now that Draco's here, he wonders if he should just slip away.

"Glad you made it," he says stiffly. "Teddy was in a strop."

Draco gives him a look of mock surprise. "Not our Teddy!" Harry can't help but chuckle.

"Anyway, maybe I should just—"

"You asked him about magic, didn't you." Draco tilts his head expectantly.

"Yeah." Harry bristles. "So what?"

"Potter—" he sighs, then stops himself. " _Harry_ , didn't Andromeda put anything of use in her letters to you?"

"Not really."

"Not really?"

"I don't know."

"You don't _know_?"

"Fuck, Malfoy, is your Patronus a parrot or what?"

"A swan, if you must know," he says shortly, then lowers his voice. "And the reason I ask is because I can't imagine she wouldn't mention anything about Teddy not showing any signs of magic yet."

Harry's mouth falls open. He can't help it. He looks ahead to where Teddy is kicking a half deflated beach ball down the boardwalk, oblivious to being the topic of their hushed exchange. "But that's—"

"Impossible?"

"Well, yeah. He's—"

"A metamorphmagus. I know. But apparently _being_ magical and _possessing_ magic are not necessarily tied."

"Necessarily?"

"Now who's the parrot?" Draco rolls his eyes. "Anyway, it's rare that they aren't, but not impossible."

"Okay." Harry works to slow the whirlwind of thoughts in his brain. "Okay, but not even—"

"We probably shouldn't talk about it now," Draco interrupts (again), nodding towards Teddy, who's stopped to wait up for them. "Just drop it with the magic talk, okay?"

"Fine." Harry takes a breath. "Look, he wanted to go with you in the first place, so maybe I should just head back and—"

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco cuts him off. "Teddy will want to do everything there is to do here, and if we join forces, each of us can sit something out." There's a note of panic in his voice, Harry thinks, but he's trying to pass it off as cunning, so Harry plays along.

"That's the Christmas spirit if I've ever heard it."

"Christmas spirit is a load of tosh."

"For once we agree on something."

Draco eyes him quizzically, and Harry can guess what he's thinking. The Weasley jumpers, the meals around the impossibly big table, the carefully selected gifts and the cosy fireplace laughter. He did love it, once. But it had all been so hollow after the war. He can't remember the last time he spent Christmas with anyone but himself, despite the cajoling of anyone who knew him. But there's no time to explain any of that just now.

Teddy's waiting and he's anything but patient, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

"Tooook you long enough!"

Draco and Harry exchange glances.

Onward to Snowfest.


	7. Warming Up

The festival is crowded and loud and smells much too strongly of fake cinnamon for Harry's taste. Tinsel strands choke every bit of greenery while the "snow" is coagulating into hard packed ice as more and more people walk through it.

Teddy's having a great time, though, so it's fine. Really, it is. And Draco's pragmatic reason for keeping Harry around has proven useful. Having two people here to share in Teddy's relentless enthusiasm makes complete sense; Draco wouldn't have stood a chance on his own, nor he.

Teddy barely takes time to breathe. He wants to make sure they do absolutely everything there is to do. They've hardly finished one thing before he's dragging them along to the next.

"Are all ten year olds like this?" Harry asks Draco as they both watch Teddy pelt the fence with snowball after snowball while he waits in line for a ginger biscuit.

"I don't know," he huffs and offers Harry a wry grin, one that warms him to his toes in a way he wishes it wouldn't. "If so, I think I owe my mother an apology." Harry laughs but Draco stops. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"What? Talk about your mum? Draco, it's fine. Most people have mums. I'm used to it by now."

"Right." Draco nods, and looks away, and Harry wonders if his cheeks were that pink already from the exertion of chasing Teddy, or if perhaps it’s something else.

This is new. Well, it's all new, but especially this. Draco apologising for an off-hand comment in case it might offend him. That's unprecedented.

Besides, if anyone has a right to be sensitive about mothers at this point, Draco does. Harry doesn't even know where Narcissa Malfoy is, or if she's been in touch with her son since disappearing. He can't even be sure what he's supposed to know about it anymore.

"Always admired your mum, you know," he finds himself saying.

Draco snorts. "That's tripe and you know it."

"I don't mean . . . I didn't _like_ her."

"I should hope _not_."

"I mean . . ." he flails inwardly. How does he get himself into these awkward conversations? "I respected her. I guess. There's something rather majestic about her. Very . . . regal."

"Yes, well, that's the inbreeding," Draco quips dryly. "Honestly, Potter, why are you falling all over yourself to compliment my mother?"

Why is he? "I don't know." He laughs weakly. "I'm not great at small talk."

"Pardon me while I die of shock."

There's that smile again. Under those pink cheeks and those granite eyes half covered by the wispy blond fringe tamped down by a ridiculous pom pom hat.

 _That_ smile. Oh, Merlin, he’s done for.

 

*~*~*

It's been a solid three hours and Draco's ‘divide and conquer’ strategy for all things Snowfest has served them well.

He'd been more than happy to stand aside and let Draco and Teddy complete the three-legged stocking race, and Draco certainly wasn't chomping at the bit to compete in the snow cone eating contest, where Harry and Teddy took second, the grand prize being a splitting headache.

They've gone that way the whole afternoon, taking turns and enjoying each other's company well enough. It's like some sort of weird dream.

The sledding race is next, though, and that will be a challenge, as it requires a three man team on a very narrow wooden sled.

"So . . ." Harry begins, attempting levity, "I'm pants at maths but I think we all have to do this one."

Draco grimaces. 

"You mean we all _get_ to do this one," Teddy corrects.

The three of them trudge up the rapidly melting "mountain," where they are greeted by a jovial fellow in a sequined red Santa suit.

"Alrighty fellas, lightest in the front, heaviest in the back."

Teddy settles into the front seat while Draco and Harry stand frozen. 

"Er, I'm heaviest, so on you go."

Draco shrugs, straddles the sled and hunches down behind Teddy.

Harry clears his throat. There is precious little room on the back of that sled.

"Okie doke," Sequin Santa prods. "You just scoot on the back, nice and tight, hold onto your teammate and wait for the whistle, you follow?"

Harry nods. Yep. Time to get on with it then.

Draco is looking straight ahead, white knuckles on Teddy's shoulders.

_Alright, Gryffindor. You've faced worse than this._

Harry does as he's told and straddles the sled—and, let's be honest—Draco's _perfect_ arse, and counts down the milliseconds to the starting whistle. The other teams are moving at a glacial pace to get ready and sorted, it seems, which gives him more than enough time to smell Draco's neck. He’s practically resting his chin there, after all. It’s a heady, citrusy scent that makes him dizzy. And that fine silky hair tickles his nose. _Merlin._ Luckily, he's gone numb from the waist down because of this bloody awkward position.

"Comfortable, Potter?" Draco laughs nervously.

"So cosy I could take a nap," he jokes. Then closes his eyes in agony. _Take a nap? What is_ wrong _with you?_ "And just so you know, it _is_ a candy cane in my pocket." 

"Ha," Draco barks.

"You’ve got a candy cane in your pocket?" Teddy pipes up.

The whistle blows, finally.

Harry digs in his heels and pushes them off.

They whoosh down the hill, teetering from one side to the next, all three of them giggling like first years, before they veer off course and narrowly miss a tree. They skid into a puddle and tip right over, the three of them falling off the sled while it continues on its merry way, empty, to the bottom.

"Oof. Get off my arm!" Teddy winces.

"Sorry, Teddy, old sport." Draco rolls over, right into Harry’s lap.

"Er, Draco?"

"Working on it, Potter. You can stop clutching your pearls."

"Well, I’d say we lost," Harry chuckles, scrambling to his feet as quick as humanly possible. 

"The race or our dignity?" Draco dusts off his trousers and lifts a hand towards Harry. "Be a gentleman and help me up, would you?"

Harry pauses before reacting, in case it’s meant to be a joke. But he hopes it isn’t.

"You heard me. I think I twisted something. Would you just do the Gryffindor thing and lend me a hand?"

Harry grasps the hand—strong and slender, and more calloused than he might have guessed—and pulls him up so they’re eye to eye. Neither of them move for a moment. Harry’s throat goes dry. "Alright, then?"

"Quite," Draco answers briskly.

Teddy punches the air. "That was wicked! Can we do it again?"

"No!" Harry and Draco chorus, but they're both grinning.

"Your steering was atrocious," Draco smirks.

"How does someone steer that thing? I think the weight was off."

"Are you insinuating . . .?"

"I don't know, _am_ I?"

Draco gives him a shove. "How's your candy cane?"

"Surprisingly intact."

"What a relief for you."

His face is speckled in mud, his cap has fallen off and his hair rivals Harry's on a bad day. And his eyes are sparkling. And it's so lovely. So very lovely.

 _Teddy, you're here for Teddy_ , a small voice at the back of his mind reminds him.

"Alright, Ted, what's next?"

"The last event! The snow castle contest!"

"And this is where I leave you," Draco says firmly, his jaw tense again.

"What?" Teddy yelps.

"Yeah, what?" Harry echoes.

"My prior obligation . . ." Draco trails off, fixing his hair and his hat and brushing the mud from his face. He’s missed a spot, and Harry desperately wants to get it for him. " . . . I was able to put it off for most of the day, but, now I really should . . . I’m sorry."

"But this is the best part," Teddy whines.

The sinking in Harry’s gut has more to do with his own disappointment than Teddy’s. "Wish you could stay," he ventures, his heart suddenly beating much faster.

"Me too."

But he doesn’t.

After Draco leaves, Harry and Teddy wander around a bit more and build their castle. It’s terrible, despite the sticking charms Harry stealthily put in place when Teddy wasn’t looking, and they’re both in a sour mood the rest of the day.

*~*~*

"Draco thought you might be put out," Andromeda says when she observes their faces. "But he did the best he could, I think."

"Hmph," is all Teddy manages. Harry silently agrees.

"It’s right nippy out there now, isn’t it? Must be a relief to you, eh, Harry? Not a fan of the heat, I gather."

 _Must_ she be so cheerful all the time?

He’s really in the mood to sulk. And the fact that he should not be sulking over Draco Malfoy just makes him sulkier.

"Well, if that’s that, you’d better wash up for dinner."

Teddy drags his feet to his room and shuts the door.

"Oh, and he left this for you." Andromeda drops a letter on the counter in front of him without fanfare.

Harry picks it up.

_Potter (Harry),_

_I apologise for leaving so abruptly. I’ll be back later tonight. Maybe we can catch up."_

_—Malfoy (Draco)._

Catch up.

_Catch up?_

On what? The afternoon? The past ten years? Their entire lives?

Whichever it is, Harry’s already watching the clock.


	8. Midnight Madness

It’s after midnight. Harry fell asleep on the sofa sometime after ten, but now he’s wide awake. And just a little worried. Draco said he’d be back by now. And he’s a grown man, and it’s probably just fine, but, technically it _is_ tomorrow, and he’s not back yet.

He should just go to bed. It will look pathetic if he’s still waiting when Draco shows up now. Still, the note. What had the note said? It hadn’t promised anything, come to think of it. He really should go to bed.

But instead he gets up and stretches and peers out the window. The boardwalk’s dark and empty, even the street lamps turned off at this hour. The ocean is quiet, nearly still.

And that’s when he sees him coming up from the beach, wet and shivering. Merlin’s shrunken balls, did he just go for a _swim_?

Before he knows it, he opens the door and calls.

"Draco, is that you?"

"Well, it isn’t Father Christmas, I’m afraid," is the sardonic reply.

"What the fuck are you _doing?"_

"Coming home and going to bed, obviously," he drawls. As he gets closer, Harry can see the gooseflesh on his arms. His teeth are chattering.

"Draco, why . . ."

He reeks of cheap liquor, but he seems sober enough.

"Just needed to clear my head, alright? Is that okay with you, Saint Potter?"

Harry is taken aback. But he checks himself. It won’t do to go off on him in this state.

"Alright then, come in," he mutters. "I’ll put on some tea or something."

"That would be _splendid_." Draco stumbles a little. Perhaps not so sober, then. But he makes it up the steps and into the house.

"You’re freezing."

"I’m fine. The water’s warmer than the air."

"You say that like it’s a good thing. Beg pardon but, Draco, what the hell?"

He slumps into the sofa. "I’m just tired."

"Go figure."

"No," he says abruptly. " _Tired_. Tired of . . everything."

He’s being surprisingly open (if a little dramatic), and Harry doesn’t want to ruin it. He tentatively sits at the other end of the sofa with his tea. "Still, you probably shouldn’t be swimming when you’re drunk."

"I’m not drunk. I had a sobering up potion before I went in."

"Someone should’ve told your legs, then."

"Are you just going to sit there and take the piss all night, or what? You can go back to bed, you know. You rescued me in one piece, alright? Well done, Savior."

"Don’t—nevermind." Harry sighs and tries again. "I haven’t _been_ to bed, actually. I’ve been waiting for you."

"You have?" Draco’s eyes brighten, with what, Harry can’t be sure.

He clears his throat. "Well, you _did_ leave a note."

"Yes, but . . . how long were you going to wait?"

"I don’t know. Till you came home I guess." Harry’s cheeks heat a little. He ruffles his hair, hoping to distract from any evidence of his discomfort. But that only seems to draw more of Draco’s attention. He can feel those grey eyes on his face, but he doesn’t dare meet them.

Draco raises a distinctly Malfoy brow. "I’m sorry, forgive me, but—are you telling me that Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World—"

"Shut up—"

He’s smirking now. "No, no, I’m enjoying this. Harry Potter, _Witch Weekly’s_ Most Eligible Bachelor—" Harry groans. "—Has _waited up_ for me? Draco Malfoy?"

"It’s not like I was _worried_ or anything."

"No? I never said you were, of course, which does make one wonder . . ."

"Sod off."

"I will not."

"Fine. I was a little worried. I care. A little. Okay, you absolute tosspot? Did I mention you bear a striking resemblance to a drowned ferret right now?"

"Oh dear," Draco tsks, "is that the best you can do?"

"It is one in the bloody morning, Malfoy."

"Malfoy again is it?"

"You still call me Potter sometimes."

"Consider it an endearment." He winks. That’s the second time he’s winked at Harry. This will not do. He shivers, even though he’s the one perfectly dry and warm.

"Anyway," Harry continues, trying to save face, "I can see Teddy likes having you around, so—"

"Just Teddy?" Both eyebrows now.

"Er, well, I guess . . . _fine_ , you insufferable prat. I sort of had fun today. With you. I probably had more fun with you than with Teddy, to be honest. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed being out with friends. And you’re . . . well, you’re not entirely terrible." He looks up at Draco from under his fringe to see that the man has stopped smirking now. There might even be a trace of his favourite smile there. "Didn’t think you’d get me to admit that, did you?"

Draco purses his lips. "It was a challenge, but I rose to the occasion. Wouldn’t quite call it a victory, however. My, my, what would the _Prophet_ say?" He stretches his palms out over his head. "Harry Potter Proclaims Former Death Eater to Be Not Entirely Terrible."

"The _scandal_."

"Next they’d be saying you’re shagging me."

Harry chokes on his tea. He chokes so hard tears run down his cheeks and Draco has to thump him on the back.

"Breathe, you idiot. Merlin, If I’d known it would give you a fucking heart attack, I wouldn’t have said it. Can’t Gryffindors take a joke?"

Harry coughs and wipes his eyes. "Honestly that’s not it. Just, took me by surprise is all. The tea just . . . went down wrong."

"Of course." Draco rolls his eyes. "Anyway, you needn’t fuss. No one would believe, much less print that story."

Harry sits up straighter. "And why’s that?"

"First, because it’s _me,_ for heaven’s sake. And second, because you are painfully heterosexual."

"Excuse me?" Harry squeaked.

"It’s nothing to be _ashamed_ of, Harry. But you can’t expect to be taken for anything else with that hair—"

"It does that on its own."

"And those shoes—"

"I was talked into those."

"So you say, but I have a hard time believing—"

"Draco," Harry is fuming now. "How dare you—if you can’t— I’ll have you _know_ that . . ."

He stops talking when he sees Draco is laughing so hard that he’s practically hyperventilating.

"Fuck. You’re taking the piss now, aren’t you." He would be angry, but the open mouth grin stretching across Draco’s face is so fucking _fetching_.

Draco catches his breath and sighs. "Oh, but you make it so easy." He winks again. "But really, of course I knew you came out. You already know I read the papers."

Harry shoots him a glare. "Bravo. As someone who doesn’t, I’m not much impressed. I suppose you wish you had a five page article on your coming out, too?"

"Merlin, no. Besides, it would have hardly been newsworthy. For me it wasn’t so much coming out as settling a few bets."

"On whether or not you’re gay?"

"On just exactly how gay I am. I did an internet quiz and scored ninety-eight percent gay, top of the ‘raging homosexual’ bracket."

"Congratulations. Curious who you’ve reserved that last two percent for."

"Professor McGonnagal of course," he replies without missing a beat.

They both laugh hysterically.

"She _can_ cut a set of nineteenth century robes." Harry smirks.

Draco spits tea all over the sofa. "Oh, good lord, you’ve taken it too far," he wheezes. Harry doesn’t think there’s anything better than seeing Draco laugh with such reckless abandon.

"Quite the _kitten_ in the sack, I’d wager," he continues, waggling his eyebrows.

"Stop!" He pants. "Potter stop this instant or you’ll owe me a new lung."

"Alright, alright. So we’re both fangirls for McGonagall. Who knows what else we have in common?"

"I’d like to find out," Draco says, wiping tears from his eyes. And he looks like he actually means it.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Er, what I mean to say is . . ." He clears his throat. "I mean to say a couple of things, to be honest. Firstly, thank you for waiting up for me. It’s nice that you cared. I shouldn’t have teased you about it."

Harry waves him off. "It’s fine."

"And secondly, I had a good time today as well." He seems suddenly very interested in the pattern on one of the embroidered sofa cushions. "It’s nice to have someone here my age, who might be considered a . . . well, you know."

"The word you’re looking for is friend," Harry offers dryly.

"Is it?"

"Unless we’ve been flirting all this time." _WHY why would you say that, you massive idiot._

"Oh believe me, if I’m flirting, you’ll know it."

"Right then," Harry says, his voice more hoarse than he would like. "Friends it is."

And awkward what-do-we-do-now silence hangs in the air until Draco stands up. "I really must get some sleep."

"Yeah, same," Harry agrees.

They nod a formal goodnight to one another and drag their feet to their respective rooms on either side of the narrow hallway. But Harry knows it will be a long while before he’s able to fall asleep.

This is a disaster. He might as well admit it to himself.

Because not only does he want Draco Malfoy any way he can have him, but he might just be falling in love with him.

And to top it all off, there’s another mug of not-tea sitting on his desk.


	9. Untitled, Unnamed

If Andromeda wants to keep sharing unsolicited memories with him, the least she could do is warn him about their contents. He doesn’t need to know any more secrets about Draco than what Draco himself would be willing to tell him. If they’re to be friends, that’s how it should work, after all.

Thing is, Harry wants to be more than friends. Fuck, does he ever. What if whatever’s in that cup will help him understand whether that’s even possible?

Not likely. Maybe this one isn’t about Draco at all. It could be more to do with Teddy.

Teddy, right.

It would be best to just wait till morning and ask her.

But then, when would he have time to see it? Right now he’s alone, and no one else is awake. It’s probably the best time if he doesn’t want to wait twenty-four hours. And he doesn’t. Patience is not his strong suit.

Still, doing the right thing is supposed to be. So he decides to leave it for the night.

Until he tosses and turns for another hour dwelling on the way Draco’s voice rumbled in his ear when he said "Believe me, if I’m flirting, you’ll know it." _Gods_ , it went straight to his cock then and it’s doing the same just now. It doesn’t matter that he wanked half an hour ago. He needs a distraction.

Bolting up and slamming his feet back onto the floor, Harry grabs the mug from the night table in a huff and and allows his senses to fade into the bright, shimmering liquid.

*~*~* 

It's Andromeda—no surprise there. But she's much younger than last time. Hair hair is raven black and her robes swirl around her tall and steady frame. She approaches a looming gothic mansion. Malfoy Manor.

She’s visibly nervous, her breathing uneven and her hands trembling.

Her hand hesitates at the silver snake knocker on the door. Harry swallows a wave of nausea, remembering the last time he "visited" the Manor in the flesh. Her white knuckles grasp the ring and tap it three times.

The door opens immediately and he is greeted with the face of a young and ethereal Narcissa Malfoy, eyes narrowed and lips curling into a snarl. Harry is startled to see she's pregnant, her prominent abdomen just visible beneath her formal robes.

Is that . . . Draco, then? The very idea makes him uneasy. Of what use could this memory possibly be to him?

"Are you mad?" Narcissa hisses, her face venomous as she looks around quickly. "Coming to the front door? Anyone could see you!"

Andromeda straightens herself, "Your wards wouldn't allow me to Apparate, now that I've married a Muggle," she says plainly.

Narcissa looks as though she's going to be sick. "I won't apologise for your mistakes."

Andromeda lets the remark pass. Something resembling pity crosses her face.

"Cissy." The familiarity is warm, despite whatever has transpired between these two women.

Narcissa beckons wordlessly for Andromeda to follow her inside, and shuts the door.

They now stand in the massive front hall, and a chill runs down Harry's spine.

"Mum?" a little voice calls.

"Just a moment, Draco, dear, Mummy's just speaking to a lady selling something."

Draco? But then who's in . . . .

The slender, rosy-cheeked blond boy appears behind a gargoyle. He can't be more than six or seven.

"Selling what?" Draco asks. "Is it to make you feel better?"

"Yes. Go back to your studies," Narcissa says sharply.

Draco obeys without a sound, but his expression is frightened and confused.

Harry can't help but feel sorry for him, even if he himself hasn't got a clue what's going on.

"Does he know?" Andromeda asks softly.

Narcissa pales. "Of course not. I don't even . . . It's not possible. Not for me."

"It _is_ possible," Andromeda says firmly. " Or you wouldn't have contacted me." Her face turns wistful. "You've no idea how common it is. After I had Dora, there was one . . ."

"That is completely different," Narcissa cuts in icily. "You can hardly expect anything else when you intermarry with them. It's intermarrying that causes it in the first place." Her face is drawn tighter with despair. "But we haven't . . . we didn't . . . but somewhere, back in the bloodlines _someone_ must have . . ."

Andromeda looks as though she's about to argue, then thinks better of it.

"What are your symptoms?"

Narcissa looks around again, then lowers her voice to threadbare whisper.

"I'm bleeding."

Andromeda draws a breath and swallows. "How much?"

"How should I know how much?" Narcissa heaves. "It's vulgar and obscene." She says the last bit like she's reciting something from the Pureblood Manual.

"For how long, then?" Andromeda persists.

"Two days.

"Any pain?"

"Yes," she whimpers, and it's as though she's finally been granted permission to feel it. She doubles over and grimaces. "But I can't. It can't be."

"You need to see a Healer."

"You know I can't. Someone would know."

"But, what if they can help? What if the baby . . ."

Narcissa fixes Andromeda with a hollow stare. "Use a _Sonorous Infas_. You can tell me if it's . . . if it's still . . ."

Andromeda's eyes widen. "Cissy. Are you sure? You wouldn't rather be in a hospital . . .?"

"No, I wouldn't." She straightens and hardens, as she must have done countless times during her life. "Perform it now."

"It's been a long time since I was trained . . ." Andromeda protests.

"Andy," Narcissa moans, desperate. "Please."

Her mouth grim, Andromeda whispers the incantation into Narcissa's velvet clad belly and presses it gently from side to side. Everything is quiet. The women wait in pained silence. Andromeda repeats the spell and the movements and waits again. When she looks up, her eyes are bright with tears. She gives a slight shake of her head.

"I'm sorry, sister," she says shakily,

Narcissa drops to the ground, keening. Draco appears again, his eyes wide.

"What's wrong?" his voice trembles. "What's wrong with mother? Is it the baby? What did you do to her?" His voice is accusing now, and his eyes fierce.

"Your mother is sick, and the baby isn't alive anymore," Andromeda replies gently. "She needs to rest. I am taking care of her."

"Leave!" Narcissa yells. "Leave us! You filthy Muggle whore! You are a stranger to us. Get out." She sobs into the folds of her cloak, her shoulders shaking.

"Cissy." Andromeda is firm and seemingly unaffected by the outburst. She strokes Narcissa's hair softly. "You need to rest, and you need very specific herbs and potions. Go to your chambers. I'll send you a tincture by owl." Narcissa nods, defeated.

"Draco," she says next. "Come for a walk around the grounds with me. Help me find the herbs mother needs for her potions, hm? Take your coat. It's snowing."

Draco stands stock still, not knowing whether to trust her.

"Go, Draco," Narcissa says flatly, holding her stomach, bent over and hobbling towards the stairs.

"Mother, let me help you." His voice is high and strangled as he takes a step towards her.

"No!" she says shrilly, then composes herself, head resting on the banister. "No. I'll be fine. Go with . . . go with your . . . with Andromeda while I freshen up."

Andromeda _Accios_ Draco's heavy grey coat and puts it over his shoulders. "Come on, then, dear. Leave your mother to her rest. When we get back, we can have some hot cocoa together. Alright?"

Draco nods slowly. Andromeda swings the heavy door open and they head out into the wind and the snow and the grey, lifeless landscape.

"We're going to the Winter Carnival at Diagon Alley tomorrow," Draco says softly, his voice betraying a fragile thread of hope that pierces Harry's heart. "There’s going to be sculptures and prizes and sweets. Will she be better by then?"

Andromeda shakes her head. "No, dear, I’m sorry. She'll need more time than that. You can go with your father."

Draco sniffs and clears his throat. "And the baby is . . . gone?"

"Yes. Your mother will tell you more when she's ready."

"I heard . . ." His face scrunches up. "She said . . ." he tries again. "It's not supposed to happen in families like mine, right?"

Andromeda purses her lips. Harry can almost see the warring thoughts in her head. Should she correct him? Is now the time?

"It's not supposed to happen in any families," she says at last. "But it does."

Then the wintery scene fades away.

*~*~*

Harry’s stomach rolls. He’s gutted and horrified—firstly because this memory was even more intimate than the other, and second because of how much such an event must have affected Draco.

Truth be told, he didn’t want to know. It makes him supremely uncomfortable. It’s not something he’s ever had to think about, really—childbearing or pregnancy loss, but he knows they’ve nothing to do with blood lines. What else did purebloods blame Muggles for?

He pities Narcissa, even as he hates her for holding onto such bitter prejudices and infecting her son with them. He can understand it would be easier, in a way, to find someone to blame for something so senseless. Godric knows, he’s done it in other ways.

But why would Andromeda show him this? Something so ugly and raw? It gives him pity for Draco, but he doesn’t feel he needs that, nor does he think Draco wants it.

As much as he appreciates everything this woman has done, she’s altogether too meddlesome, and he makes up his mind to tell her so in the morning.

Harry falls asleep wondering what else he doesn’t know about Draco Malfoy.


	10. In the Wild

_Dec 21_

The rain is torrential, and has been since dawn. Draco’s disappeared again, which is alright. Andromeda says he goes to Pansy’s family Christmas this day every year. Whatever Harry thinks of Pansy Parkinson, at least he knows Draco is safe and with friends. Truth be told, it’s probably a good thing that he has time to process the last twenty-four hours, and spend more one-on-one time with Teddy.

Teddy’s in a strop about the rain. He practically lives outside otherwise, but when it rains this hard and for so long, the beach isn’t good for much of anything.

He does wish they could go _somewhere_ though. Both of them are tired of chess, and all the other board games in the cupboard of the cottage have bored the both of them to tears.

"Wish I could go out," Teddy says glumly for the tenth time that day.

Instead of saying "Well, you can’t," like the last nine times, Harry asks, "What do you do when you go out, anyway?"

Teddy glances at him and then anyway. "Nothing. Stuff by myself."

"You like being by yourself, then?"

"S’okay. Better than this."

Point taken. 

Then Harry has an idea. "Well, if you have to be with other people, you’d probably rather be out instead of here, yeah?" Teddy nods suspiciously. "So what if I take you somewhere?"

Teddy looks at Andromeda, who’s in the corner knitting and pretending not to listen. "You can go," she says primly, without looking up.

"What about the zoo? Have you ever been?"

"Nah, the zoo is for little kids."

"I went to the zoo for the first time when I was eleven."

Teddy shrugs. "If you can’t think of anything better."

"Zoo it is, then," Harry says, forcing a cheerful smile.

*~*~*

The afternoon passes pleasantly enough. Turns out Teddy is quite keen on zoology. He stops to read every plaque, and sometimes lets his excitement get the better of him enough to recite the facts back to Harry.

"Did you know, Lions can run as fast as 80 kilometres an hour? That’s as fast as a car!"

Harry nods, secretly pleased that Teddy is so impressed by the animal chosen as Gryffindor’s mascot. "And they’re not even the fastest big cats! I hope we get to see cheetahs!"

"We can see everything," Harry smiles.

"Brilliant!"

*~*~*

They stop in the Critter Cafe for a quick lunch.

"So, what’s been your favourite animal so far?"

Teddy chews his chips thoughtfully. "The penguins."

"The penguins?" Harry says, trying not to sound surprised. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but not that. "What do you like about them, then?"

"I like that they swim instead of fly. Everyone expects birds to fly, but the penguins said, ‘No way, not for us. We swim and we do just fine.’ And everyone loves them for it. They make films about them and everything."

"You know, I’m not quite sure that’s how evolution works," Harry says wryly.

"Sure it is. They found what works for them. They did it. They didn’t have to fly or have feathers just because they were birds."

Harry feels a pang of sympathy.

"You wish you were a penguin, Teddy?"

Teddy blushes and scowls. "Course not. That’s stupid."

"Listen," Harry says carefully, "I know you’re worried about not doing magic yet—"

"You don’t know anything," Teddy grumbles, poking at the rest of his food.

"Yes, I do," Harry insists. "Draco told me. Please hear me out. It’s very unlikely that you don’t have magic. Some people are just late bloomers—"

"Oh gods, are you going to give me the sex talk, too?"

This causes a few patrons around them to perk up.

"Could you keep your voice down?" Harry mutters. "And we’ll . . . cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Don’t worry. Draco already told me the important bits."

_Thank Merlin._

Teddy’s hair turns a violent shade of scarlet and back to brown again. If this continues Harry will have to cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm over them both, just to be safe.

"The point is, I think maybe the problem is that you’ve just been removed from other wizards for so long—"

"That’s not it."

"And even if it’s not, even if you were actually a Squib, you could still be a part of the magical world, as a meta—"

"Don’t you get it?" Teddy slams his palm at the table, rattling the dishes and causing the other patrons to look in their direction.

"I was just talking about the FREAKING penguins!" he shouts.

Now everyone in the little cafe is staring at them. A woman sitting with two school age boys casts Harry a sympathetic glance.

"Language," he says warningly, half to Teddy and half the other patrons.

"Fuck you."

Now he’s gone and done it. How does one come back from this?

He’s still staring Teddy down and trying to figure out how to save face without obliviating the whole cafe, when the guests’ faces change from surprise to utter shock. Everyone appears to be looking at something behind him.

Harry whirls around to see a stack of plates hanging in midair, ready to crash to the ground. And he knows he’s got nothing to do with it.

It must be Teddy. Teddy’s just done magic for the first time. Harry bites back a self satisfied grin. He can’t wait to tell Draco.

But first things first.

Harry sends the plates back to the counter, averting disaster, then casts the gentlest Obliviation Spell he can muster over everyone.

When he finally faces Teddy, ready to congratulate him, the expression on the boy’s face is not what he would have expected. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes shifty.

It’s not the face of a boy who’s done magic for the first time.

No, it’s the face of a boy who’s been _caught_ doing magic for the first time.

*~*~*

"So . . . so . . ." Harry blusters once they’re in the parking lot, out of earshot. "The whole time?"

Teddy doesn’t answer.

"How long have you been doing magic, Teddy?"

Teddy shrugs.

"Teddy," Harry says through gritted teeth. "How. Long."

"Since I was seven," he mumbles.

"Seven!" Harry shouts. "Why on _earth_ have you been hiding it? Making everyone worry?" He grabs Teddy by the shoulders. "Answer me."

Teddy wrenches out of Harry’s grip.

"Shut up!" he shouts back. "You don’t know _anything._ None of you do!"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I _hate_ magic," he spits out. "Magic killed my parents. It makes everyone miserable. Look at you! You’re all unhappy. You, Draco, Gran. It ruined your lives! I don’t want it!"

Harry’s not sure he can argue with that. "But Teddy, it’s who you _are._ "

"Doesn’t have to be." He shakes his head vehemently. "I’m not using it. I’ll figure out how to control it. How to give it back. There has to be way."

"There isn’t."

"You don’t know that! You think you know everything but you don’t! I hate you!" He makes a run for it, heading Merlin knows where.

Harry hates to do it, but he _Accios_ him right back, then Side-Alongs him back to the cottage.

As soon as they arrive, Teddy runs straight to his room and slams the door shut.

Andromeda looks up from the same spot she was sitting in when they’d left.

"How was it?" she asks innocently.

"I don’t want to talk about it," he growls.

She doesn’t look perturbed at all. "As you like."

In any case, she’s not the one Harry’s worried about. What is he going to tell Draco?


	11. The Boy Who Got Results

_Dec 22_

"Don’t even try to tell me this isn’t your fault." Draco sighs. It’s the following evening and he’s returned from Pansy’s to find that Teddy will not, under any circumstances, leave his room. They’re outside discussing it after casting a hefty _Muffliato_.

"It _wasn’t_ my fault!" Harry kicks the sand.

"Oh, do calm down. Like hell it wasn’t, Potter. You brought up magic. After everything I told you."

"It just came up!" Harry cries in frustration. "The . . . the bloody penguins . . ." Harry wishes he could sink into the ground.

Draco shoots him a look that’s four parts confusion, one part pity. "Penguins?" He repeats in disbelief.

"Nevermind. Fine. It’s my fault. I’m sorry."

Draco shakes his head.. "I _knew_ you would . . ."

"Knew I would what?"

"Swoop in like that. Push his buttons."

" _Pardon_? Were you there?"

"I didn’t have to be. _Gods_ , Potter." Draco throws his head back for a moment, as if to summon patience from thin air. Then he snaps his gaze on Harry’s. "Do you know how long we’ve been tiptoeing around him, trying to get him comfortable enough to tell us what’s really going on?"

"Well, now you know," Harry says shortly. "He can do magic."

"I already _knew_ that, you arrogant berk."

That stops Harry in his tracks. "You . . . you knew he could do magic?"

"Well, I had a strong suspicion," he admits and holds up one hand. "And before you say I lied to you, I did nothing of the sort. I said he hasn’t shown any signs of magic, which is true."

"But you didn’t tell me what you were thinking."

"I don’t typically do that with anyone. Anyway, I didn’t want to risk my relationship with him by asking. I wanted it to be his decision to tell me."

Harry feels about two feet tall. "So I ruined it, then?"

"On the contrary, actually." Draco smirks. "Now my suspicions are confirmed and you’re the villain. It couldn’t have worked out better if I’d planned it."

Harry doesn’t know whether to be furious or relieved.

"Bully for you. He said he hates me, you know."

"Yes. He does that sometimes. He’s ten."

"You know what else he said?"

"No, but I’m dying to find out. Care for a stroll down the boardwalk? I don’t trust the Silencing Charm to hold out much longer."

"Sure," Harry shrugs.

They head towards the pier as the sky darkens.

"He says we’re miserable."

Draco frowns. "We?"

"All of us," Harry corrects hastily. "All . . . wizards I guess. Or everyone who knows about magic, even. He doesn’t want to be magical because it makes everyone sad."

Draco is quiet for a moment. "Well that’s a lot to unpack, isn’t it?"

"Not really. Maybe it’s true," Harry says softly. He hesitates before asking the question he’s been wondering about since last night. "Are you happy?"

"That’s a complicated question."

"Because I thought you were, when I first got here," Harry rushes on, "I hated you for it, even. But now I don’t know. Maybe you just hide it better."

Draco sighs. "I’m happy enough. Happier than I thought I would be at this age, back when we were teenagers. I take it you’re not, then?"

"Ha. I would say I’m decidedly _less_ happy than I thought I would be when we were teenagers."

"Why did you expect to be happy, I wonder?"

"Because if I wasn’t dead, then we would have won. And at the time, I thought that meant everything would be okay. But it’s not."

"No," Draco agrees. "I’m sorry, Harry."

"I . . ." He dares to meet Draco’s eyes and finds a warmth there that makes him catch his breath. "Thanks."

They reach the pier, where the lampposts and a few docked boats are decked out in sparkling Christmas lights. It’s lovely reflected in the water.

"You know," Draco muses, "I think it’s my fault Teddy wants nothing to do with magic."

Harry shakes his head. "Plenty of things are your fault, Draco—" Draco elbows him. "But you can’t take credit for everything."

"I’m serious. You don’t know what I was like the first few years living with them. I _was_ miserable."

 _I have some idea,_ Harry thinks.

"In case you thought it was all lip service, or me being a daddy’s boy, or whatever, I really did hate Muggles when we were in school. I thought Muggles and Half-bloods were the reason for every wrong thing that ever happened to me. And when I realised I was wrong—that it was all wrong—it was too late."

Harry nods, afraid to to say anything.

"When I was young," Draco begins after a silence, "My parents—my mum—she lost a child."

"I’m sorry," Harry says, feeling helpless. _I know_ , he longs to say. But he wants to hear Draco tell the story even more.

"And she was convinced that Muggles were at fault—that weak bloodlines caused babies to die in the womb—and she was in so much pain, and I was so frightened and angry. I would have done anything to make it better. I _did_ do anything. I spent my life trying to make it up. Purebloods place a lot of emphasis on breeding. They’re supposed to have at least two children. ‘Heir and a spare’ and all of that. But my mother couldn’t, for whatever reason. It was just me. And when I realised I was going to fail her, in so many ways . . . I could barely live with myself."

"So you did what you could to make her proud. I know, Draco, I know. It’s okay. It was a lifetime ago."

Draco doesn’t acknowledge Harry’s interruption. "But with Teddy, it was like I had a second chance. He’s all the family I have left. I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t ever get close to making the same mistakes."

It’s starting to make sense. "So you went so far the other way," Harry adds gently.

"Exactly. I essentially told Teddy all the ways the magical community is fucked up. I didn’t mean it. I meant purebloods and their prejudices and the worship of magic itself but—"

"Teddy didn’t pick up on the subtler points of magical politics and ideology at the tender age of . . . what was it?"

"Six," Draco whispers. "I started telling him when he was six." He looks utterly horrified.

And he shouldn’t. It’s not his fault. He’s done everything he can to do right by Teddy, even after everything he’s been through. How can he not see that?

They’ve reached the end of the pier. It’s completely dark, the moon is out, and the colourful lights catch Draco’s pale hair and skin like passing faeries. It’s so beautiful, Harry can hardly concentrate.

Draco hasn’t said anything else. Harry wishes he knew what to say, how to make sense of everything he’s feeling. But he doesn’t.

So instead, he reaches out and takes Draco’s hand.

Draco startles at the contact, but doesn’t let go. Harry squeezes, and he squeezes back.

"It’s not your fault, you know," Harry manages at last. "Not at all."

"Thanks, but you don’t need to say that."

"I’m saying it because it’s true." He waits a beat before deciding to confess. "I saw you."

"Saw me what?" Draco pales.

"Andromeda showed me a couple of her memories of you . . . I didn’t know what they were, I swear."

Draco shakes his hand free of Harry’s. "She had no fucking right," he spits out. But he doesn’t leave, which is something.

"I agree," Harry says calmly. "But she did it. And I’m glad she did."

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose and clenches his jaw. "Do I dare ask which ones?"

"Just two. The night you came to her door—"

"Fucking hell, I was blubbering mess. I’ll hex her in her sleep—"

"You were amazing." That stops Draco’s rant. "I saw you with Teddy. You’d been dealt a terrible blow, but the way you were with him . . . there’s no way I would have managed that, had it been me."

"I always wanted a sibling."

Harry takes his hand again. It’s a risk, but he needs to do it. Draco lets him.

"And she showed me that day. The day she visited your mum, and you were there."

Draco’s voice is tight. "All I cared about was the _fucking_ snow . . ."

A light switches on in Harry’s brain. "Oh good gods, the snow. That’s why you avoid Snowfest isn’t it?"

Draco nods grimly. "It’s a bit much, is all."

"I can imagine. Draco, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know."

That was probably why Andromeda showed him the memory in the first place. So he wouldn’t be angry with Draco for leaving. Only he’d been too bloody thick to see that.

"But you’re wrong. That’s not all you cared about. I saw it on your face. Draco, it broke my fucking heart. You were terrified. And you wanted to help, but you didn’t know how."

Draco just shakes his head. "I should have—or, I shouldn’t have—"

"Stop it," Harry says firmly, giving Draco’s hand another squeeze. "There’s plenty I should and shouldn’t have done over the years, too, in case you’ve forgot. And if you want to talk about Teddy, let’s start there. I should have been there."

"That’s neither here nor—"

"And if I had been . . ." He squares his shoulders and takes a steadying breath. He has to say this before he loses his nerve. He turns to face Draco. "If I had been, maybe this could have started a long time ago. Maybe we both would have been happier."

Draco bites his lip, then releases it. "And . . ." he glances down at their clasped hands. "By ‘this’ you mean . . ."

"By ‘this,’ I mean, _this_ ," Harry finishes, closing the distance between them and kissing Draco softly on the lips.

He pulls away, heart pounding. A two second kiss and it feels like the biggest risk he’s ever taken in his life. He can’t even make himself look up at Draco’s face. What if it was a mistake? For a few seconds, for an eternity, all he hears are the waves on the shore.

"Harry." Draco’s voice is low and soft.

"Mhm?" Harry responds, looking not at him but out at the water.

"Harry," Draco says again, a hint of smile in his voice. Harry feels Draco’s fingers graze the small of his back and closes his eyes in anticipation. He leans forward involuntarily. Draco leans in, too, and his lips brush the shell of Harry’s ear. "Is that the best you can do?"

Fucking _hell_.

Harry wastes no time, then. He cups Draco’s face with both hands and presses a hard, searing kiss to his mouth before dropping one hand to Draco’s waist, pulling him even closer.

"Much better," Draco gasps, folding Harry into his arms and parting his lips with his tongue. Harry melts into the kiss and, emboldened, slips his fingers below Draco’s waistband, tracing the outline of his hip, inflamed by the way it makes Draco arch into his touch.

Things are progressing rapidly, and you won’t hear him complaining, except that he doesn’t much fancy doing more than this in public.

"Maybe . . ." Harry pants into Draco’s neck, "we should go back . . . and . . ."

"And waltz past my aunt into my bedroom?" Draco says quickly. "Are you mad? Unless you mean that we should stop . . ."

"Fuck, no."

"Then, I think we’re better off here. Alone," he adds, kissing Harry’s jaw.

"But the lights," Harry murmurs.

"Nox," Draco whispers, and it’s so hot, the way he does that, that Harry hardly notices all of the lampposts and sparkling lights blink twice before going out. 

"And what if someone—"

"We’ll hear their footsteps," Draco mutters, and yanks Harry by fisting his shirt, moving the two of them a few feet over, just behind the last lamppost. Draco presses him up against it, working his thigh between Harry’s legs. Harry groans and ruts against the friction.

And now Harry truly doesn’t care if the pier lights up like a bloody Christmas tree because nothing has ever felt so good in his whole damn _life._

"Gods, Draco," he breathes, slipping his hand back into Draco’s shorts, under his pants, stroking Draco as he comes under the moon and stars while the water laps softly behind them.

*~*~*

"Do you think they’re wondering where we are?" Harry murmurs into Draco’s chest as they lay sprawled out on the beach, hours later, a little closer to home. They’d started to make their way back after the pier, but stopped to ‘look at the moon’ at Harry’s suggestion. It was one of his better ones.

"Hmm." Draco strokes his hair, sending electricity tingling down his spine. "Probably not. Andromeda knows more than she lets on."

Harry tilts his head so his chin rests on Draco’s ribcage. "You think she knew this would happen?"

"She’s a very intuitive witch."

" _I_ didn’t know it would happen."

"Potter," Draco chuckles, "Sometimes I wonder if you know that the sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening."

"Fuck off." Harry rolls his eyes. "You can’t tell me you expected this."

"No, but I thought about it one hell of a lot," he says with a wicked grin.

"So did I." Harry laughs. "More than I wanted to," he admits. "And what about Teddy? Does he even know you’re gay? He told me you had ‘the talk,’ you know."

Draco throws an arm over his face dramatically. "Don’t fucking remind me. How many ways are there to answer a ten-year-old asking ‘but why would anyone want to do that?’"

Harry giggles.

"How very mature of you, Potter. Anyway, yes, he knows I’m gay. He knew about homosexuality before he knew about sex. Blokes fancying other blokes isn’t that difficult to understand. He guessed before I told him."

"He did?"

Draco gestures to himself. "Ninety-eight percent."

"Ha. Right."

"And your guess is as good as mine as to whether Teddy thinks there might be something going on between us. Probably best to be discreet while you’re here."

"Of course," Harry says quickly, the words sinking in.

 _While you’re here_. They ring in Harry’s head like alarm bells. Of course. He’s leaving after Christmas. Isn’t he? He doesn’t want to. There isn’t anything to go back to. He could even get a place of his own here. But he can’t broach that subject with Draco so soon. One thing at a time.

"I was thinking," he says hesitantly.

"Don’t hurt yourself."

Harry swats Draco’s shoulder. "I was thinking Christmas is approaching too fast," he says, hoping Draco will get his meaning, maybe even suggest he stay longer.

"It does sneak up on you," Draco says, his voice neutral.

"You’ll be glad to be rid of me, I suppose."

"Don’t be daft," is all Draco says in response, which is closer to what Harry wants to hear, but not close enough.

"So you might miss me, then?" Harry presses.

Draco grins. "I might." He purses his lips. "But don’t misunderstand, this _has_ been a hardship for me, having you here," he says with a stern look.

"Oh, really? Do tell."

You and your fucking candy canes," Draco mutters halfway to himself.

"It _was_ a candy cane."

"I’m not talking about that." Draco’s voice drops and reverberates under Harry. "I’m talking about you sucking the stripes off of not one, not two, but _six_ candy canes in succession, while I could do nothing but pretend not to watch."

Harry’s cheeks burn. He has always liked doing that, does it without even thinking about it. 

"Maybe I have an oral fixation," he says slyly.

"Don’t tease," Draco warns.

"M’not," Harry replies, casually unbuttoning Draco’s shirt.

Draco makes a motion to stop him but Harry stills his hand. "Please. I know they’re there."

Draco doesn’t ask how he knows, only nods. His shirt falls open to reveal the smooth, honeyed skin and the silver scars criss-crossing all the way down.

"Beautiful," Harry says reverently. "Of course I hate what I did—"

"Shh," Draco shakes his head. "Don’t. It was a lifetime ago, as you said."

"But I mean it. You’re beautiful. All of you. And if anyone here is a _tease_ ," he continues, playfully kissing a trail down Draco’s stomach. "It’s you."

"Moi?" Draco cries in mock indignation before a whimper escapes.

" _Yes_." Harry licks the inside the curve of his jutting hip bone. "With all of your fucking stretching—" An open mouth kiss. "And flexing—" Another, lower. "and—" He pauses to blow softly against his skin and watch the goosebumps appear.

Draco hisses through his teeth. "That fucking tickles, you wanker."

"And do you always sleep naked?" Harry asks innocently.

"What?" Draco snorts.

"Calm down, I wasn’t spying." Harry slides the waistband of Draco’s shorts down, then his pants.

He’s never done this before, but he finds if he keeps talking, he’s not as nervous. And Draco’s much more likely to let him talk without interrupting.

"So . . ." Draco’s breath hitches. "You were . . ."

"I was returning your clothes that day after I ran into you on the boardwalk," Harry continues, nuzzling into him. "You were asleep and you were . . ." Harry licks his lips. "I couldn’t fucking breathe, I wanted you so badly."

Draco exhales and his eyes widen. "Ohh."

"I’d like to show you just how much."

"Go on, then," Draco begs, gripping Harry’s hair.

So he does.


	12. To the Heart of Things

_Dec 23_

Harry sets the table for breakfast while Draco flips the eggs. Andromeda is in Teddy’s room, trying to convince him to come out to eat.

"She should just leave him until he’s ready."

"You think?" Harry is doubtful.

"Absolutely. He’ll come out to eat when he’s hungry. Or to take a piss, at the very least."

"Probably did that last night."

"Could have done. I wouldn’t know." Draco winks.

"Oh? And what were _you_ up to last night?" Harry asks with feigned curiosity.

They’ve both agreed to keep what’s going on between them private for now, but no one said it would be easy while they’re living under the same roof. And it seems neither of them wants to make it particularly easy for the other. They’ve been teasing each other all morning. It’s deliciously agonising.

"Shagging some bloke. Quite forgettable, to be honest," Draco sighs, casting a smirk in Harry’s direction.

"Fucking prick," Harry chuckles, aching to snog that smug smile from his face, but they can’t very well get breakfast finished that way. Harry makes his way to the cupboard. "Hmm, well that won’t do."

"What?"

"All out of candy canes. Best nip out to the shops and pick up some more."

"You wouldn’t."

Harry slowly licks his lips and eyes Draco up and down. "Wouldn’t I?"

Draco casts a furtive glance at Teddy’s door before coming up behind Harry and growling in his ear. "Do not test me, Potter."

Harry snorts. "Or what?"

"Or . . ." He feels Draco’s hand slide under his pyjama bottoms and graze his cock, which has been half hard since he woke up.

The door clicks and the two of them jump away from each other so fast that Harry hits his head on the cupboard door.

"Serves you right," Draco sing songs.

Harry flips him off just before Andromeda enters the kitchen.

"Hard at work, then," she observes.

"You might say that," Draco chirps. Harry could hex him where he stands.

"Well, I hope you’re hungry," she sighs. "Our Teddy won’t be joining us."

"Starved," Harry replies meaningfully.

Draco breathes through his nose and shoots Harry a murderous glance. Harry sends a winning smile in return.

Whatever they’re doing, he hopes it lasts forever. Breakfast has never tasted so good.

*~*~*

Draco might believe in letting things work out on their own, but that’s never been Harry’s style.

It’s half past two in the afternoon and Teddy has managed to stay out of sight. If Harry didn’t know better he’d swear the boy had Disapparated.

Draco’s out with Andromeda shopping for Christmas presents, and he’s insisted Harry stay here, so really, what did he expect would happen?

"Teddy." Harry raps on the door.

No answer.

"Look, Ted, it’s just me here. We don’t have to talk about it. I’d just like to . . . hang out."

Gods, he probably sounds about fifty years old.

"I’m leaving after Christmas," he continues talking to the closed door, "and I was hoping we could just spend some more time together before I go."

Still no answer.

"Teddy would you at least fucking say something?"

Slowly the door creaks open, just a sliver.

One eye peers out at Harry.

"Hi," Harry offers.

"Hi."

"Fancy a late breakfast? I cast a Warming Charm—I mean, I’ve microwaved the toast and eggs."

He can hear Teddy’s stomach growl from inside the room.

"And I won’t tell them you came out, if you don’t want."

"Fine." Teddy shoves the door open, heads to kitchen and wolfs down the plate of food on the spot.

Harry takes advantage Teddy’s full mouth to say what he means to say.

"I’m not going to ask you anything about your life or your magic," he begins. "But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to tell you about mine.

Teddy grunts without looking up. Harry takes that as a yes and hops up on the counter beside him.

Harry tells Teddy about the day he found out he was a wizard, about the day he got his wand and his owl, and what it felt like to fly, to cast a corporeal Patronus. He also tells him a little of the Dursleys, and about Ron and Hermione—how magic brought him his first true friends. Teddy still won’t look up, but he can see him react from time to time. He’s invested.

When it gets to the war, Harry takes pains to say that, while it may seem that it was about magic—who had it, who didn’t, who deserved it— it was actually about power—who wanted it, and what they were willing to do to get it.

"It’s what all wars are about, Teddy, magic or Muggle. And everyone we lost . . . they fought for good reason." Teddy’s shoulders tense. "It’s not fair," he adds quickly. "It’s bloody fucking unfair." His voice goes a little wobbly but so be it. It makes Teddy look up at him. "But it’s true. And it’s also true that if I got the chance to go back and live like magic never existed, like the war never happened—I wouldn’t take it."

And yet, up until now, Harry wonders if, in fact, that’s how he’s tried to live since then. An empty shell of a life. He’s been so lost and missed so much. It hurts to face it.

He’s been talking for a while—too long, probably—so he stops and waits to see if Teddy will say anything.

Teddy chews the side of his mouth for moment. "What about Draco? Magic messed him up."

Harry shakes his head vehemently. "It didn’t. Ask him. When he came to live with you and your gran, the war was hardly two years over. He said some things he didn’t mean when you were growing up, things he probably didn’t even understand."

"He’s right," Draco interjects, startling both of them.

Harry doesn’t bother asking how he managed to sneak in here without either of them noticing. Bloody Slytherin.

"I’m sorry, Teddy. It certainly wasn’t my intention to make you hate magic. Or yourself."

"S’okay." Teddy sniffs and swallows.

"And as for being happy or not, well that’s something everyone has to work out for themselves." He catches Harry’s eye. "Magic doesn’t make it better or worse."

Teddy’s hair fades from brown to a soft pink. "Yeah, alright. It’s just hard." His voice cracks. "I don’t know anyone else like me. Even wizards think I’m weird."

"Well, fuck them," Harry says simply. "Being a metamorphmagus is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen plenty. Your mum was . . . she was hilarious. And brave, and so bloody cool. I was rather intimidated by her, to be honest."

"Yeah?" Teddy smiles.

"Yeah. And your dad . . ." He’s not sure he can continue.

"Your dad was the best Defense of the Dark Arts professor Hogwarts has ever had. And he was a better man than most. He had every reason to be bitter, but he was good and kind to the end."

Harry’s never heard Draco speak of Professor Lupin in such glowing terms. It makes him fall in love with him just a little bit more. "He’d’ve been so proud of you."

"Dunno about that," Teddy mumbles.

"Well, I do. You remind me of him in so many ways."

"You remind me of both of them," Andromeda cries, bustling into the kitchen with her arms full of parcels and dropping them all over the floor. She hugs Teddy to herself and lets him go. "So much that I wanted to keep you to myself, keep you safe, keep you from everything," she says through tears. "It wasn’t right. And I’m sorry."

Teddy’s wriggles uncomfortably and his face and hair are matching shades of bright pink now. It’s clear he has no idea what to do with himself when everyone is fussing over him.

"Don’t ‘spose there’s more bacon?" he asks sheepishly.

"Of course, love."


	13. Wrapping Up

_Dec 24_

Sunlight filters in through the white linen curtains of Draco’s room. For a moment Harry forgets where he is. That is, until a sharp, familiar hip bone nudges his. He wouldn’t recommend sharing a twin bed with anyone, let alone someone as angular as Malfoy, but there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

"Oi," he whispers in Draco’s ear. Draco stirs.

"‘M sleeping," he mumbles.

"I’m aware. You’re also stabbing me."

"Get out, then." He gives him a pitiful shove towards the edge of the bed.

"I would, I really _would,_ but there is the delicate situation of it being morning and me being in your room."

"Too right, too right . . ." Draco’s eyes stay closed and he remains where he is.

Instead of moving away from him and getting out of bed, Harry rolls over and straddles him. "And while I’m here . . ." he begins, tracing a finger from Draco’s jaw to his chest.

Draco’s eyes fly open. "Potter! What are you doing here?"

Harry pouts. "I’m not that forgettable, am I?"

"Sod off, you know what I mean!" Draco pushes him off with a thud. "Teddy and Andromeda will be awake any minute if they aren’t already. You were supposed to leave right after . . ."

"I know," Harry sighs. "But I didn’t want to. And you fell asleep so quickly. It was adorable."

"Malfoys are not adorable."

"This Malfoy is," Harry grins, taking Draco’s jaw in hand and kissing his swollen lips.

Draco rolls his eyes but there’s a blush and smile there too.

"Anyway," Harry muses aloud. "Isn’t this a little ridiculous? Sneaking into one another’s beds and then sneaking out again like seventh years?"

"If _only_ that happened in seventh year," Draco says wryly.

"Bloody war," Harry agrees. "But it is silly, isn’t it?" he presses. "We’re nearly thirty. And you’re a pillow hog."

"I have to be. Your hair is practically sentient. I couldn't afford to lose any ground."

"I’m serious, though," Harry says softly.

"About what?" Draco asks warily. Harry is surprised at how much his tone hurts. "You want to tell Teddy and Andromeda?"

Harry sighs. "I suppose it depends on what we would be telling them."

"What do you mean?"

"I guess I’m asking if we’re doing more than shagging," Harry says in a rush. He bites his lip and studies the floor.

"Is that what you want?" Draco asks. "Because I thought you were leaving."

"I am," Harry says, losing confidence by the second. "But I really like you. Maybe I should . . . look around for a place here or something."

Draco frowns. "I don’t think that would be best."

"Yeah," Harry says quickly. "Stupid idea. Forget I mentioned it." He tosses the blankets to the floor, opens the door—Teddy and Andromeda can gape if they want—and goes to pack his things.

A minute later Draco’s knocking at his door. "Harry? Could I just explain?"

"No need!" Harry hollers back. Sod it. If Teddy and Andromeda weren’t awake yet, they must be now.

"Fuck," he hears Draco hiss. "Harry, please."

Harry opens his door. "Fine. It’s fine. You don’t have to explain. This was just a bit of fun. I get it. Happy Fucking Christmas."

"No, you don’t get it, you stubborn git." Draco grips his wrist and stares fiercely into his eyes. "I want nothing more than to make this serious."

"Really?" Harry hurls back. "If that’s your enthusiastic response, I’d hate to see your frightened one."

"I am frightened," Draco says simply. "But not for the reasons you think."

Harry calms down long enough to take a breath. "Enlighten me."

"You don’t belong here. And you know it. You have friends and family in London. And you’ve missed too much with them already. I don’t want to be the thing you use to keep that life at a distance. It wasn’t good for Teddy, and it wouldn’t be good for you."

Harry is silent. He wishes the man could take a break from being right all the time. It would be the polite thing. 

"So, what I’ve actually been thinking about . . ." Draco resumes slowly, "Is moving back. With Teddy. But I didn’t want you to think I was following you. I didn’t want to scare you off. And I’d have to talk it over with Andromeda first. And there are a lot of things that would go wrong if not handled properly . . . I just didn’t want to rush it."

Harry’s shoulders sag in relief. "But you do want to? And you do want . . . this?"

"Yes. Trust a bloody Gryffindor to force my hand," he smirks. "And I Iike you too, by the way. I thought that was obvious."

"Well you could have _said_ so first off!" Harry huffs, grinning like an idiot now.

"I just woke up!" Draco lets out an exasperated laugh. "You should’ve known better."

"Alright, fair enough." He lowers his voice again and lifts an eyebrow. "Wanna see my room? I’ve got chocolate frogs in here."

Andromeda clears her throat rather conspicuously from the sofa.

"Morning, Auntie," Draco calls. "I’ll start breakfast in ten."

*~*~*

Harry finds Andromeda on her own in the garden, humming over the herbs. Teddy and Draco are having their own talk inside.

"Spose we’re not fooling anyone then?" he says sheepishly.

"Oh, I don’t know about anyone." She trims a leafy stalk. "But certainly not me."

"Can I ask you something?"

She nods.

"Why did you leave those memories for me? It was . . . odd, to say the very least."

She smiles. "As I may have let on in my letter, I’m too old not to do as I see fit."

"You didn’t have Draco’s permission."

"They weren’t Draco’s memories."

"No, but still, they were private . . ."

"Let me ask you something, then." She looks at him. "Are you sorry I did?"

He has to think about that. "Not exactly. At the time, maybe. But, not now."

"Sometimes, we do what we must, to give people what they need."

"You could’ve been wrong about what I need."

"But I wasn’t." She casts him a knowing glance. "I also think Draco’s idea has merit."

"You heard that."

"Everyone this side of the ocean heard that conversation, dear."

Harry doesn’t care enough to be embarrassed about it. "And you’d be . . . alright with it? Moving back to London with Teddy?"

"It’s time for us to move back, I think. Draco’s right. He often is. But it wouldn’t be with Teddy."

"No," Harry considers. "I suppose once he starts Hogwarts, he won’t be around much."

"But when he is at home, I don’t mean to live with him anymore."

"What? Why not?"

Andromeda pauses over the pots she’s been preparing and wipes her hands on her apron. "Harry, I’ve looked into granting Draco full custody. You may as well know."

"You have?" He goes numb for a moment, not knowing what to feel about all this.

"Yes. He was waiting for a good time to tell you. He thought you might be angry, seeing as you are his godfather. It’s one of the reasons it was necessary to get you to come this year. I didn’t want to blindside you. And, depending on how your visit went, I might’ve changed my mind."

"You mean, you might’ve granted _me_ custody?" As much as he loves Teddy (and he does, he realises), there’s no way he would have been ready for that. He can admit that now.

"Or both of you . . ." she adds casually.

"Andromeda Black Tonks. Tell me you did not fabricate this entire week so you could _Parent Trap_ me and Draco into falling in love and adopting Teddy."

She laughs to herself. "No, I didn’t do that. But . . ." She pushes the soil down into a pot and sprinkles it with moss. "I just wanted to plant a few seeds," she winks, "and see what came up."

It makes sense. Sort of. "But why don’t you want to be Teddy’s guardian anymore?"

At that, Andromeda’s voice wavers and her eyes fill. "It’s not that I don’t want to, love. It’s what’s best. Teddy comes alive when he’s with Draco. They understand one another." She blinks and shakes her head. "He was always meant to have a brother, after all."

Harry nods.

"I’ll be nearby if they need me. I couldn’t help my sister," she continues, her voice far away. "But perhaps I could help her son."

Harry blinks because they’re something in his eye _damn it_. "Andromeda, you’ve already helped him more than you know."

"Anyway," she sighs with a smile. "I should be a gran to Teddy the way I was meant to be. Dropping by with noisy expensive gifts and taking him out for for ice cream just before supper."

"Wish I had a gran like you," Harry says, joking and first, but then he realises. "I mean it," he says firmly. "You’ve been wonderful. And I never thought to thank you for it. I never even . . ."

"Hush. You’re here now. What do you say to spending Christmas in London?" She holds up a tiny snow covered Christmas ornament. "I’ve taken the liberty of getting a Portkey."

"All of us?"

"Of course."

"I’d say it sounds _brilliant_."


	14. Epilogue

_Dec 25 — One Year Later_

Harry rubs Draco’s back underneath the sparkling new jumper he’s unwrapped from Molly, and savours the way Draco leans into him on the sofa. He’s uncharacteristically warm and Harry wants to curl right into him.

The Burrow is bursting at the seams, hardly a place to sit or put one’s food because someone else will have inevitably got there first. But that doesn’t stop Teddy from weaving through the crowd with Rose and Hugo laughing delightedly on his back. Hugo grips the dragon wings that have sprouted through Teddy’s jumper and buries his face in a shock of electric purple hair. Teddy roars and runs faster.

"Weasley, control your children," Draco calls out.

"Oi! My children are angels, Malfoy. It’s your cousin who’s the hellion," Ron shouts back.

As if on cue, Teddy runs straight into the punch table and knocks over the stack of glasses.

Harry casts a _Reparo_ from across the room. "Our little hellion," he sighs, wiping an invisible tear. "They grow up so fast."

"He’s doing well, isn’t he." Draco smiles.

"So well. You’ve done an amazing job, love." Harry kisses his earlobe and cards his fingers through Draco’s hair, now just grazing his shoulders.

"Don’t you dare give me all the credit," Draco scolds as he gives Harry’s thigh a playful squeeze.

"I wouldn’t dream of it. At least half goes to Andromeda."

Draco just shakes his head. "Modest idiot."

"I saved the world, Draco. I don’t need any more credit than that."

"Oh, is that all, then?" He kisses him on the cheek.

They’re both quiet until Harry chuckles to himself.

"What’re you giggling for?"

"Just remembering last year at this time."

Draco grins. "Ah, yes. Bloody awkward affair, that."

"We didn’t know what we were doing."

"You got Teddy that pet penguin, remember? It shat all over the Persian rug at Grimmauld. I thought you’d gone mad."

"I had, a little."

"You’re lucky Luna was up for taking that thing off our hands or I think this would have been over before it got started."

"I was just trying to get him a meaningful gift!" Harry pouts. "I’m very thoughtful, you know. And as I recall, you bought me sandals that year."

"The very best sandals money can buy." Draco sniffs. "I also did you the favour of burning the monstrosities you bought at the surf shop."

Harry laughs, remembering catching Draco in the act. He was completely unapologetic. "Well, your fancy-pants sandals aren’t nearly as comfortable. I think I’ll buy myself another pair of crocs next time we go South."

"Then I’m never taking you within a hundred miles of another beach."

"That’s fine. I saw a similar pair at Marks and Spencer just the other week. I’ll wear them to Gin’s wedding!"

Draco heaves a long suffering sigh. "I give up."

Harry wraps both arms around Draco’s waist. "Smart man."

"I am, aren’t I?"

"You know," Harry growls into Draco’s ear. "Ron and Hermione said Teddy can stay the night here." He pulls a cherry candy cane from the bowl on the coffee table in front of them and unwraps it slowly. "And I’m feeling rather tired. Should we head out?"

Draco smirks. "Subtle as a brick wall aren’t you?"

"Is that a yes?"

" _Accio coats_!"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment below. ♥
> 
> This story is part of HD Erised, an on-going anonymous fest. The author will be revealed January 7th.


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